A Proper Education
by DaBigLizzard
Summary: The story is now complete! A tale of corruption, and the origin of the Dark Portal.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The Burning Steppes was no place for the weak.

To the north, the Blackrock Spire stabbed into the sky to an impossible height. The volcanic mountain was forged by the birth of a god, and later shaped by dwarven craftsmen and dragon magic. On the days when you could see the sun, the mountain's shadow was cast across almost the entire region. That shadow was a constant reminder to everyone that the dark masters of Blackrock considered everything to be their domain.

To the south, the Redridge Mountains formed an impassable wall. The lands beyond cherished this blessing, as it held back the monsterous denizens of the Steppes. The single pass thru the mountains was constantly patrolled by both the humans who's homes would be threatened by said intruders. Raids by the Blackrock Clan orcs or the Firegut Orges were a weekly occurrence.

In addition to orcs and ogres, the gorge was hunting ground for dragons and their kin. Tiny whelps and adolescent drakes roamed and killed as they pleased. However, even the dragons avoided the ruins. Long ago the dwarven nations had waged war here, and their ancient living war machines still patrolled long-abandoned cities, searching for enemies from a forgotten war.

Outsiders could find nothing of value in Burning Steppes. Its only offering to them was a vast selection of ways to die.

So when, on this particular day, a band of riders could be seen in the southwestern most corner of the gorge, it was unusual indeed. The band, consisting of some twenty souls, was heavily armed. Nearly two thirds were warriors and battle-trained wizards. They in turn protected a core unit of five men and one woman. That unit had directed them to their current location, and now they waited.

"Bah, this is useless." One of the core members, a dwarf with charcoal grey skin and growled. "No one could survive out here alone. Our query has certainly perished. One of the dragons is probably sucking the marrow from her bones as we speak."

"I concur." One of his companions replied, perhaps a little too quickly. This one was an elf of Quel'Thalas, with pale skin and hollow cheeks. "I'm sure the orges have crushed her body and are tossing her head back and forth as a game. We should leave."

"You're both wrong." A tall human with dark hair and thick armor smirked. "The barriers to the elemental planes are weak here. Sometime the stones themselves will come alive and move, filed with malice and hatred of all natural life. I'll put ten gold to say she was attacked by one such construct, and her corpse lies buried beneath a landslide.

"Silence! the lot of you are cowards." The lone woman shouted. Her voice echoed erriely off the nearby cliffs. "The thief has the charm, and we are not leaving without it. I don't care what fate that fowl creature has met, we'll not return to the Depths empty handed."

One of the sentries signaled. "The hounds return!"

Moving in from the south at incredible speed, a pack of three enormous blood-red dogs raced towards the group. Skidding to a halt before the woman , they stopped and stood at perfect attention. Not moving. Not even breathing.

"My faithful, loyal servents." The woman placed her hand upon the first creature's forehead and closed her eyes. "Let us see what my bloodhounds have discovered."

The team huddled in nervous silence as the woman communicated telepathically with the unnatural creature. After a moment she gasped and removed her hand.

"They tracked her to the base of those cliffs." The woman pointed southwest. "There her trail disappears. She must have scaled upwards, to that pass"

The dwarf barked a laugh. "Pass my fanny! That's Draco'dar! A nest and breeding ground for the dragons of the black flight. She's dead, and we'll not be finding her corpse!"

"Nonsense. Our prey ascended those cliffs, so shall we."

"Are you daft woman? The only way to ascend those cliffs is if a drake swoops down and takes you in his claws. We cannot get up there, and no prize would be worth it if we could."

The woman spun on her heel and threw out her hand towards the dwarf. There was a crack like thunder and the dwarf screamed in pain. He fell forward onto his knees and vomited blood, but no wound blemished his skin.

"Fool! You could never comprehend the power of our prize!"

"Stop Onessa." The tall human moved to stand between the woman and the dwarf. "Sootshaft is a coward, but he is correct. This expedition is not equipped to scale to those heights."

"The secret of the Dark Portal is within my grasp Crassius. I will not abandon our quest."

"Nor shall I." the man turned the warriors. "Half of you set up camp here, and station sentries to make certain our prey does not double back. The rest of you come with us. We travel east, to Flame Crest, and we have a great distance to cover if we are to arrive by nightfall."

"The goblin camp?" The elf sneered. "Why not return to the Twilight Hammer?"

"The goblins have ways to cross the mountains. If we are in luck, we can get to the far side of that chasm before our prey does.

The woman raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. "You know where Draco'dar leads?"

"I do. It has been a long time, but it will be good to go home again."

-End prologue


	2. A Proper Education

Chapter 1 – Proper Education. 

"What does The Light want in return?"

The silver haired woman gasped and straightened slightly. Her eyes cast nervously around the class to the rest of her students, then back to the dark haired boy with his hand raised.

"Why would you ask such a question Edwynn?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders. "Well, you were talking about history. About how the guardian Medivh was corrupted by demons, and how he traded his soul for powerful magics. With that magic, he opened the dark portal, and the orcish horde invaded out world. And last week Brother Sammuel told us about the orc's shamanistic magic. He said they can speak to the wind and water spirits, and they barter favors with the spirits in exchange for power over the elements. And my cousin said the trolls can use the power of mojo, but for their magic to work they have to cut you open and eat your heart so they can…

"Edwynn!" Sister Wecenda burst. She glanced at the noble-born girls in the classroom's front row before clearing her throat. "You are in elevated company Edwynn, where are your manners."

"I'm sorry sister. It's just that… if the demon magic, the shaman magic, and the troll magic all require you to give it something in order of it to work, I was wondering… what do the priests here at Northshire Abbey have to give up for the magic of the Holy Light to work?

The whole class, consisting of nearly twenty students ages 7 to 16, turned to hear sister Wecenda's answer. For her part, the sister stammered a bit before replying. "It simply doesn't work like that! Firstly, this is a history class, not some sort of mystical philosophy! And secondly, there are no orcs or trolls in Northshire. Or in Goldshire, or Westfall, or Redridge, or the entire length and breath of the Kingdom of Stormwind. I can't imagine why a young man such as yourself would be interested in such fowl things. And finally, the Holy Light is not like other magics. The Light allows us to mend the wounded, cure the poisoned, and even recall the deceased if circumstances are fortunate enough.

Edwynn's eyes quickly surveyed the classroom at Northshire Abbey. In the front row, the three noble-born girls were casting looks his way and whispering among themselves. Behind them, the youngest children had already lost interest in what was being said now that troll cannibalism was no longer being discussed. Closer to the back of the room, young acolytes and apprentices, students of the Light, seemed genuinely interested. Finally, in the very rear of the room were the peasent children. Sons of the miners, lumberjacks, and farmers here to get the most basics of an education. These students were enjoying Edwynn's brash question, as any small act of rebellion against their 'tyrannical' history teacher was so often encouraged. Seeing their hidden smiles, Edwynn decided to press his luck.

"You really haven't answered my question sister Wecenda"

"Edwynn DeTemms how dare you! Disrespect of this caliber will not be tolerated." Sister Wecenda rose from her desk and stormed down the aisle towards the bench where he sat, and Edwynn knew immediately that he had overstepped his bounds. Grabbing his ear, the instructor dragged Edwynn to his feet and lead him from the room.

"Truly Edwynn, you should know better" Sister Wecenda's voice was a loud whisper as she propelled her student across the library of Northshire Abbey towards the main hall. The librarian watched silently as Wecenda brought her disobedient young pupil to him.  
"This boy needs some disapline Brother Paxton. Perhaps you can find some use for him? Something to instill in him a respect for authority?

"An afternoon spent shelving books is hardly a worthy punishment sister." Paxton said. Although in truth Edwynn could think of nothing more dreadful then wasting his day among the musty old tomes. "Perhaps Jorik in the stables has something a bit more taxing for him."

"Oh no, please not that…" Edwynn moaned.

"Oh yes." Sister Wecenda grabbed his ear and propelled him out the door to the main hall, and from there out the main doors.

Northshire Abbey was a huge stone building nestled in a quiet valley at the northern edge of Elwynn Forest. 30 years ago the orcish horde had swarmed into the forest from the east and sieged the city of Stormwind. The orcs invaded the valley and burned the original abbey to the ground. The men and women had been driven out, and forced to seek refuge in the neighboring kingdoms to the north. Years later, they returned to drive the orcs back and reclaim their homeland. The abbey was rebuilt, larger and stronger than before. It was now a center of learning not only for new priests and paladins, but for the displaced wizardfolk of Dalaran, whose own kingdom was devastated in another, more recent war.

Sister Wecenda released the boy's ear, but continued to march him north around the building to the stables in the back. Within, Jorik Kerridan stood silently in the shadows as the two approached.

"Mr. Kerridan, if I could trouble you for a moment…"

"This kid giving you trouble sister?" Jorik looked Edwynn up and down the way a gambler would look at a horse before a race. "The DeTemms boy? Why am I not surprised."

"Oh, do you know him sir?" The sister asked.

"We've had our dealings." The stable master answered. "Let me guess, causing a ruckus in class? Getting the other students worked up?"

"As a matter of fact yes, Mr. Kerridan. He was asking the most blasphemous of questions. I was hoping you could…"

"Put the boy to work?" Jorik finished for her. He produced a pitchfork seemingly from nowhere and thrust it's handle towards Edwynn. "Stalls need cleaning boy. Start at the back and work your way forward."

"Sister Wecenda smiled. "Thank you Mr. Kerridan. I.."

"Please sister, call me Jorik." The stable master took her hand and gently began walking her back toward the abbey's main doors. He moved with the grace of a courtroom nobleman, and his gaze was fixed on Wecenda's blue eyes. "Asking questions in a classroom. Children today simply have no respect. Lets be honest sister, your skills are wasted on a boy like that. If you could see that the kid is sent to me for the later part of each of your lessons, I shall make a proper man of him."

The two passed out of earshot. Edwynn watched closely as the y exchanged words for several moments. Jorik continued to hold both her had and her gaze. By the end of their converstation, Edwynn's elderly schoolmistress was blushing like a schoolmaid who'd been asked to her first harvest dance. Sister Wecenda departed, and Jorik returned to the stables.

"So now I'm to receive half-lessons, and spend the rest of my afternoons with you?"

"You can thank me later kid."

"How do you do it Jorik?" Edwynn smiled.

"What?" Jorik's eyes smiled back, but his face was firm.

"Get people to give you what you want without them knowing?"

"It comes from watching people kid. You would know that if you had been paying attention to all the things I've been telling you for the last couple of months. Now get to work, the stalls aren't going to clean themselves. Sooner you get done, the sooner we can move on to what you're really here for.

Edwynn sighed and moved to the farthest stall. He took the pitchfork to the hay with a vengeance. Jorik watched in silence, restricting himself to moving any of the horses that were ahead of Edwynn. After nearly an hour, Edwynn finished, went to the nearby stream to scrub the filth off, and returned and re-donned his shirt.

"So, what are you going to teach me today Jorik? More stealth training? You know, I was able to follow Milly Osworth around her vineyard for almost twenty minutes yesterday before she noticed me."

"Child's play." Jorik muttered. Moving to the back of one of his stalls, he pulled a small box from beneath the hay and began removing it's contents. With several deft movements of his hands, Jorik rapidly assembled a wooden target dummy. Gaudily painted as a barmaid, it rocked lazily left and right in the breeze.

"Aww, come on Jorik, not the knives again?"

"What's the matter? You don't like knives?" Jorik reached back within the box and pulled forth a dozen small throwing knives.

"I like them just fine. I'm just no good with them."

"And how do you expect to get good with them boy?" Jorik handed the knives to Edwynn. "You think all the great swordsmen of Azeroth were born great? Bollocks! They started out lousy, just like you, and they practiced. They kept doing it over and over and over again, until they got good at it. Same is true with every miner, fisherman, tailor, heck even the cooks. Only time and practice can increase your skill, now get started."

Edwynn sighed and began to throw. Only two of his first dozen even struck the target. He retrieved them an threw again. And again. And again. The gaudy barmaid's wooden form taunting him with her unending smile. The early spring breezes kept pushing the thin wooden form so the metal spring at her waist was in constant motion. After a quarter of an hour Edwynn was making progress, in that six of every twelve shots were landing.

"Hey Jorik, what did you do before you came here?" Edwynn asked at one point.  
"What makes you think I wasn't always here?" Jorik replied. Edwynn ground his teeth. Jorik had a nasty habit of always answering a question with another question.

"Oh, come on! You don't expect me to believe you were always a stable master here at the abbey do you? I mean, you know so much about the world, and about other kingdoms. I remember you said you got that scar on your arm from a knife fight in Stromgrade.

Jorik just shook his head. "You kids today. You always expect to be able to just walk up to someone and have them hand you the answer. You need to learn how to use your head. Think kid. How old do you think I am?

"I don't know… 35, maybe 40 winters."

"Close enough kid. So what does that tell you?"

"Well, you would have been too young to fight in the war against the orcs."

"The FIRST war against them kid. And you're right, I was just a child at the time. I was born here in Northshire, so what do you think happened to me?"

"Well, if you were just a kid, they would have evacuated you.. North! Where did they send you? To Lordaron?"

"Actually my family was sent to Hillsbrad. That was a long time ago, and I was very young. But the horde soon attacked there too, so my family fled further north to the kingdom of Alterc."

"But I thought the people of Altrec were traitors? That they were helping the horde."

"They were. The orcs were winning the war, so the king of Altrec made a deal with the warchief to try and save his kingdom. Too bad for him that the other alliance kingdoms found out about it. The combined human and elvish armies attacked the city and burned it to the ground. My family managed to leave the city several hours before the attack. If we had not, I probably wouldn't be alive today."

"Wow. That was lucky…" Edwynn paused in his practice.

"My father wasn't big on luck kid. He always said men like us have to make our own luck."

"What do you mean, men like us?" Edwynn asked.

Jorik didn't answer. Edwynn looked up to catch the stable master making a subtle gesture with his hand towards the stable gates. At the same time, the sound of hoofbeats could be heard approaching.

"Hide the dummy and the knives kid. I'll handle this."

Edwynn moved quickly to follow Jorik's instructions. He hear the stable master step outside and call a greeting to the unknown rider. Words were exchanged that Edwynn could not make out. Just as the boy finished placing the box with the knives and disassembled dummy into the stall, Jorik returned. He lead two horses, their riders following close behind. They were a man and a woman. He was broad shouldered, and had a military quality to him. She wore loose trousers and a expensive blouse, with several jeweled rings and a matching pendent around her neck. Odd symbols were woven into the fabric of her riding cloak.

"Quit your slacking kid!" Jorik called out. "See that these beasts are watered and brushed down." Jorik handed the reigns to Edwynn and turned his attention to the riders. "Now then, you must have ridden far to our good abbey. How was the faire?"

"Faire?" the man asked?

"The Darkmoon Faire. It should be in Goldshire until the end of the week"  
"We did not come that way." The man made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Please good sir, we are in haste. Is your name Jorik Kerridan?"

With the mention of his mentor's name Edwynn felt his heart skip. Why would someone come to Northshire seeking a stable master? He finished stabling the second horse, and moved around so that he could pretend to unbridle it while watching what was going on. The two strangers stood side by side with their backs to Edwynn. Jorik was on the far side of the couple, with his own back to one of the closed stall doors.

"That might be my name. Who would be asking?"

The man casually reached for his belt and Edwynn heard the jingle of coins. "We were told to seek you out as a man with keen eyes and ears. Someone who would be aware of the comings and goings within the valley. Perhaps you have heard something of interest? Some new person or strange event yesterday or today?"

"This is a small valley sir, and news travels fast. The abbey has had no visitors for two days."

The woman hissed at her companion. "I told you this was a waste of time! No one could have crossed…"

The man cleared his throat, and then glanced meaningfully in Edwynn's direction. The woman followed his gaze and her eyes met Edwynn's. At the same time, he hand dropped to her waist, to the handle of a jeweled dagger there. Edwynn returned to vigorously removing the saddle.

"Ignore the boy." Jorik commented in almost an afterthought. "His silence, and my own, can be assured for a price. If you are looking for someone, someone who wishes to remain hidden, there are places that may prove fruitful to search."

"Oh?" the man asked, his interest clearly peaked.

Jorik nodded. "There is an abandoned copper mine to the northwest, at the foot of the mountains. It's infested with Kobolds, but they are little more than a nuisance really. "Thank you good sire. Please keep your ears open for any news. Particularly of strange visitors or wild beasts." The man tossed something towards Jorik, and Edwynn saw the glint of silver in the air. With that, he and the lady left quickly.

Jorik waited until they were out of sight before moving over to where Edwynn was removing the last of the horse's tackle.

"Who were they Jorik? How did they know your name?"

"You were watching kid, you know who they were."

"Huh?" Edwynn blinked in confusion. "I don't understand."

Jorik reached across and bonked Edwynn on the head. "Think kid! You've got to learn to use your head. Now what did you see?"

"Well, the woman had the look of a sorceress about her. And they said they didn't come from Goldshire, but that's the only road into the valley."

"Now you're thinking. They must have come to the valley by magic, or by some other means. What else?"

Edwynn turned to the horse he had just unsaddled. It seemed natural enough, a tall black mare with a clean coat. He then looked towards the tackle and saddlebags. As he reached for them, Jorik gently grabbed his wrist.

"Careful, kid. Wizard folk don't take kindly to having their belongings rifled through. It's easy enough to have their bags curse anyone who goes about opening it incorrectly. But this might tell us something." Jorik's gaze went to the bit and bridle.  
"That leather looks odd." Edwynn remarked.

"Aye. I've never seen hide like it. These buckles though.." Jorik fingered the coal black metal holding the straps together. "This is dark iron. Dwarven craftsmanship. You'll not find this work outside Kaz Modan, and the Dark Iron clan trades with no friend of Stormwind. Strange visitors indeed."

"Well, they came here looking for you. They knew that you would be the one to ask if someone had come into the valley recently."

Jorik nodded silently, his keen eyes boring into Edwynn's. "And what does that tell you?"

Edwynn swallowed deeply. "That you're a spy?"

Jorik threw back his head and laughed. He then smiled at his pupil. "For who? The Dark Iron dwarves? Why would they send a spy to Northshire? To report back to their emperor every time brother Neals steals a bit from the wine harvest?" Jorik seemed to find some great entertainment in Edwynn's deduction. He then placed a hand on Edwynn's shoulder, and his voice took a more serious tone.

"You are right though Edwynn," Jorik called him by name for the first time that he could remember. "I was a spy once. For the alliance. For Stormwind. My father was the one who discovered Altrec's betrayal more than twenty years ago, and he trained me to follow in his footsteps. I'm too old to be creeping along rooftops and in windows now, so I've settled down, but my name can be found in the right circles. People know that if they need to find someone in these parts, I'm the man to ask.

"My father once told me 'men like us make our own luck. He meant men like you and me Edwynn. This world is a dangerous place, where orcs and demons threaten our kingdom. Stormwind needs wizards and knights and armies to fight it's battles, but even more, it needs men like us. Men who live by our wits and our blades. People call us thieves, rogues, scoundrels, or spys, but the truth is we are the most powerful weapon the kingdom has against it's enemies.

"We? You're talking like I'm a spy too?"

"Dammit kid, what do you think I've been training you for? The network is always looking for fresh recruits. The Light knows we need them! Besides, do you want to live at the abbey forever?"

--End Chapter 1.


	3. Corrupting Influences

Chapter 2 – Corrupting Influences

School ended at the abbey at the third hour afternoon. Ten minutes later, acolyte Brogan appeared at the stables to collect Edwynn. Brogan found Edwynn and Jorik in a hushed conversation that ended a little too abruptly as he approached.

"Edwynn! I'm to tell you Myrista is waiting for you to walk her home outside the main hall. This is, if master Jorik is done with you."

Jorik slapped Edwynn on the shoulder and grinned in an impish fashion. "Oh, I think the kid has had enough lessons for one day. Why don't you head on home and think about what I've told you."

The two of them exchanged looks and Brogan knew immediately that they were sharing some private joke. Brogan sighed and shuffled his feet impatiently. He was in a foul mood. He had been in sister Wecenda's classroom, and Edwynn's comment about demon magic had offended their teacher deeply. She had lectured for the rest of the afternoon about the corrupting influences of dark magic. She rambled on and on about Arthas, the lost prince of Lorderon. The story of his fall from grace, and the fall of his kingdom five years ago, was well known to every man, woman, and child of Stormwind. The flood of the displaced from the north had swollen the ranks of the poor in the cities. Many of the refugees turned to banditry to survive. It had to the point where the farmers of Westfall were no longer safe in their own fields.

Brogan could care less about the fate of distant royalty. Sister Wecenda's lecture had stoked the fires of a more pressing concern. The acolyte cleared his throat and Edwynn detached himself from the stable master and joined him. Together they began the return trip to the main hall.

"What the hell are you grinning about fool?" Brogan sneered.

"Today has been…eventful" Edwynn smiled with barely contained glee. "Jorik told me something, well… remarkable."

"What? Some fantastic new method for shoveling horseshyte?"

Edwynn's pleasant expression dropped and his eyes narrowed. "There's a lot more to him than you know Brogan."

"Oh, I'm sure there is. I can't imagine what you see in him Edwynn. I mean, two months ago you saw him do the most amazing knife trick at the faire, and that you're going to get him to show it to you. The next thing I know, Myrista tells me you're neglecting your chores to waste your time afternoons there, and now sister Wecenda says you're going to be spending half your lessons with him too. So please, by all means le me know what's so fascinating about him."

Edwynn said nothing. The two boys were schoolmates but not exactly friends. While similar in age, socially the only thing they had in common was that they were both orphans. Edwynn's father had been a peasant who had worked in the alliance army, building barracks and watchtowers for the army as it marched. He had died in far off Kalimdor. His mother had passed away from illness two winters ago. Now Edwynn lived with his mother's sister and her husband. They worked at a manor near the abbey, owned by Myrista's uncle, sir Mallius Crownguard.

Brogan's family were wizards, from Dalaron. When prince Arthas had gone mad, he led his undead armies south from Lorderon and attacked the magical kingdom. Brogan was one of over a dozen children who had been sent to Stormwind for their safety. That was five years ago, and Brogan had never stopped waiting for word from his parents. Word never came.

The two boys rounded the front of the abbey, where they found most of the students were clustered near the main doors. A set of peddlers' wagons stood on the east end of a cleared square that roughly served as the abbey's forum. Myrista stood with the other two noble born girls on the abbey's steps, gossiping. Myrista's ink black hair and pale complexion contrasted sharply with the two blondes. All three wore the white high-collared robes of apprentice priestesses. They were students of the light, and Myrista was scheduled to be confirmed into the order by midsummer.

"Edwynn, we were just talking about out." Myrista remarked as the boys approached. "You sent sister Wecenda into quite a fit with your remarks earlier. Every student has to write five hundred words on prince Arthas now because of you."

"My apologies, my lady." Edwynn made a formal bow that certainly seemed out of place in the forum. This sent the noble born girls into a fit of giggles and Myrista gave a sharp frown. "You can trust that it will never happen again."

"You're awfully bold today, Edwynn. What's gotten into you?"

"Must be whatever the stable master has been teaching him." Brogan interjected. "Anyways, let's get going"

Myrista bid a quick goodbye to her friends and the three departed south along the road. Brogan had been fostered on a farmstead near the estate of Myrista's uncle. As the stories of bandit raids in Westfall and southern Elwynn Forest grew more common, the abbey began insisting that children walk together for safety.

"So what was so amazing that Jorik has you ditching chores to spend your free time with him?" Brogan asked as they moved away from the forum.

Edwynn held his tongue. He had been so excited to learn Jorik's secret that he had almost told Brogan as they left the stables. 'Some spy I would have made then' he thought to himself. "He's just been teaching me some knife moves." Edwynn half-lied.

"Ha! He'll teach you whatever he thinks you'll want to see if it means you're the one shoveling the stables instead of him."

"Priestess Anetta says he used to be a spy." Myrista commented.

"Edwynn's gasp of shock was obscured by Brogan's loud guffaw. "A spy? You can't be serious."

"That's what she said." Myrista remarked. "She can read minds you know. It's a spell priests can learn in they have the talent for it."

"I don't think Jorik is a spy." Edwynn offered feebly.

"She's pulling a fast one on you Myrista. Probably trying to see how gullible you are. What else does she say."

"She told me to stay away from Drusilla LaSalle. Priestess Anetta said Drusilla uses dark magics and consorts with demons."

"The only person I've seen Dusilla consort with is Dane Winslow." Edwynn added, glad to steer the conversation away from Jorik and towards local gossip. He noticed that Brogan said nothing and that the sour look he wore when he came to the stable had returned.

"Priestess Anetta also didn't like those newcomers who arrived today."

"I saw them. A man and a woman." Edwynn chimed in. "She had the look of a sorceress about her. They were asking odd questions. They wanted to know if anyone had seen any strange new people around the valley. Or beasts for that matter."

"Beasts?" Myrista asked. "Were they hunters?"

"I doubt it. Their cloths were too fine and they didin't have any guns or bows on their horses."

"I can't image why anyone would come to Northshire." Brogan muttered and rubbed his forehead. "This valley is a festering dungheap. I can't wait to leave."

"Leave? You havn't even begun your training yet. What's gotten into you Brogan?" Myrista queried.

Edwynn added "Yeah, you've been about as fun as a night without dinner."

"I've got a headache, that's all." Brogan pulled his hand away from his forehead. Something in his voice made Edwynn think Brogan was lying.

"Would you like to come down to the manor?" Myrista asked. "Edwynn's aunt Claudette has a recipe for green tea that works wonders on headaches."

"No thanks. It just hurts a bit, that's all."

"Here, let me take care of it." Myrista stopped walking and began a chant. Brogan started to protest, but the spell was a simple one, and the acolyte was suddenly engulfed in a soft yellow glow. Edwynn watched as Brogan physically relaxed, his shoulders slumped slightly, and his breathing eased. He actually smiled for a moment before the effect wore off.

"Feeling better?" Myrista asked.

"Yes… No. Not really. The pain is gone, but… Myrista I need to ask you something." Brogan looked at her and Edwynn saw that he was wrestling with some burning desire. Suddenly Edwynn's mind clicked and he Brogan's mood suddenly made sense to him.

"Listen, if you want me to leave you two alone, I can go on ahead."

The words had barely left his mouth when Edwynn realizes he's made a mistake. Myrista was the first to comprehend what he was implying. She blushed crimson but said nothing. Brogan seemed completely lost until he saw the girl's embarrassment. Then his expression shifted instantly to anger.

"I'm not sweet on her you idiot! It's a question about her father!"

The change in Myrista could not have been greater. Her crimson cheeks drained of all color, and her sympathetic eyes hardened to a cold glare. Edwynn swallowed and took a step away from them both. No one talked about Nathaniel, Myrista's father. At least, not in her presence.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. It was Edwynn's fault really. I wouldn't have said anything if he hadn't…." Brogan stopped when he saw that apologizing would gain him nothing. Instead he sighed and started over. "Look Myrista. I just need to know if it's true. What they say about him. About the way he was acting before he disappeared."

If Myrista had been any other girl, Edwynn would have expected her to burst into tears and run home, or knock Brogan flat on his back with a swift punch. Instead she simply stood there, her pale skin a seemingly impossible shade of white. Her lips pressed flat and her eyes unflinching.

"My father was a good man Brogan. He left for his own reasons and that is all there is to say about it."

"So what they say isn't true?" Brogan asked. "That he was hearing voices? That he was talking to himself? That he…"

"Was insane?" Myrista's finished the sentence for him. Her voice was empty of all emotion. "I don't care what rumors you've heard Brogan. Rumors that father went mad. Rumors that he vanished in the dead of night, with no one seeing or hearing a thing. That he abandoned me years ago, and that no one had heard from him or my uncle in the Plaguelands for months? Rumors that I'm the only one of my family left at the manor, and that we're almost out of money? That the tax men will be throwing us out before the winter? Well I don't care what you've heard Brogan. My uncle isn't dead on some nameless battlefield somewhere. And my father is alive. He's sane. He's a good man, and he's coming home…soon. I hope I've satisfied your curiosity. Now please leave Brogan."

"I'm sorry, it's not like that." Brogan began "I just…"

"Leave! Now!" Myrista's icy façade started to crack. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes shown with wetness.

Brogan was too embarrassed to say anything. He hitched up his schoolbag and continuted south along the road. After nearly a minute he rounded a bend, leaving Edwynn and Myrista alone.

"Go on ahead." Myrista said quietly. "I'd like to be alone.."

"My uncle wouldn't like that. I supposed to walk you home."

"Please Edwynn. Just go."

The young man bit his lower lip, then turned and followed Brogan south. He pretended he didn't hear her crying behind him.


	4. Interlude

Interlude

"Vermin!" Onessa swore as flame leapt from her hand and engulfed a nearby Kobold. The fire consumed the creature's scream of pain, and it was dead before it's knees touched the ground.

"This is pathetic. These creatures are worse than rats! I wish they would show themselves so I could kill them all at once!"

"Indeed" Cassus kicked a waist high Kobold out of his way. He had refused to draw his sword against such unworthy opponents, and so far he had yet to need to. "This is useless, she's not hiding here."

"Do you think Jorik was lying?"

"That simpleton? No. I offered him more silver than helll see in half a year in that abbey. No, he hasn't heard anything. We need new sources of information."

"Who do you have in mind?"

"We should seek out these brigands, the Difas Brotherhood. They'll know if she's been this way or not."

"Good" Odessa gestured to her demon hounds. Two of them stopped ripping the limbs from a dead Kobold and bounded to her. "Was was the name of the man who leads these bandits?"

"Padfoot. Garrik Padfoot." 


	5. A Swift Shoot

Chapter 3 – A Swift Shoot

Edwynn arrived at the gate to Crownguard manor without Myrista. He had considered the option of waiting for her, or sneaking into the woods near the trail and going back to watch over her. They said the road was not safe these days, with so many bandits in the woods. Edwynn's uncle had made no secret of how he would flail Edwynn's hide to the bone if anything were to happen to her. So far the old man had never made an empty threat.

He ultimately decided against going back. Edwynn was certain Myrista would soon regain her composure. He knew that she was a strong-willed girl. They had grown up together and Edwynn viewed her as a kind of half-sister or cousin. Edwynn's aunt had as much to do with raising the girl as she did with Edwynn himself. Myrista was not prone to the senseless weeping or daydreaming about boys that was common in other girls. These days, the greatest hero of the Alliance was Lady Jaina Proudmoore. Jaina was a powerful sorceress who ruled the city-state of Theramore in Kalimdor to the west. Myrista talked about ascending through the priesthood, and maybe one day joining Jaina's court.

The estate consisted of a waist high wall surrounding a waist high wall surrounding one large two-story building and several farms. A barn and servants quarters stood in the back. The servants' quarters were where Edwynn slept, along with his aunt Claudette and his uncle Corbin.

As the boy approached his home, he found it surprisingly deserted. Usually this early in the afternoon almost everyone would be out working the nearby vineyards or wheat fields. He took this as an opportunity to avoid the lecture he would undoubtedly receive if he was seen arriving without Myrista. As a child growing up, he had a knack for sneaking around and causing trouble without being noticed. Jorik had honed this skill to the point where Edwynn could use it almost at will, and with great effect. He hunched low and slipped around the gate and towards the manor. Moving silently across the yard, he heard voices from the main hall. A quick glance in one of the windows showed Edwynn that all of the servants and workers were inside discussing something. His uncle could be seen standing up near the back.

"Quiet, quiet please." Edwynn's uncle Corbin held up his hand and the chatter in the room died down. "This is a proper household and I won't have you lot embarrassing yourselves or the Crownguard name with your lollygagging. The lady Myrista will be home soon, and she will see to our new guest when she arrives. Until then I want the rest of you back outside and working. Now move!"

The crowd of men did not move. One near the front raised his hand.

"What is it Dennis?" Corbin asked.

"Will the guest be staying long?"

"I don't know." Edwynn's uncle responded.

"Where's she from" another voice from the crowd asked.

"She ain't from around here, that's for sure." Another voice answered the first.

"Do you think she's married?"

"That's enough you useless peons! Get your lazy rumps back to the fields before I start beating you all!"

Grumbling loudly, the farmers began slowly making their way out the door and back to the vineyards. Edwynn waited silently near the entrance until the last of the farmhands was gone. The his uncle stepped outside and watched the men to make sure they got back to work. The boy waited until he was certain Corbin was not about to go back inside before he himself slipped into the house. Hoping to steal a quick snack before starting his afternoon chores, he moved quickly thru the main hall, past the dining room, and pushed open the door to the kitchen.

He would remember that moment for the rest of his life.

In the kitchen, Edwynn's aunt Claudette sat talking to the most incredible creature Edwynn had ever seen. He knew at once it was a Night Elf. Her skin was flawless, a deep purple hue like the sky after sunset. Her hair reminded him of summer leaves, lush and green. It fell just past her shoulders. Large triangle shaped ears, at least 10 inches long, swept out and a little back from her head. Across her face was what appeared at first to be a shadow, but was actually a tattoo or birthmark, Edwynn was not certain. Shaped like a butterfly with its wings open, it covered her face from eyebrows to her cheeks. But most remarkable of all were her actual eyes. They glowed softly, but he could see it even with the mid afternoon sun streaming in the window. She turned her gaze towards him, and it seemed as though there were actual stars within her eyes. Tiny white pinpoints of light in her irises. It wasn't until she blinked that Edwynn gasped and realized that he had been holding his breath since he entered the room.

"..and this is my nephew, Edwynn" his aunt was pouring tea for the elf. "He attends classes at the abbey with the young Lady Crownguard. Be a dear Edwynn and go let the mistress know that she has a visitor. How many sugars would you like in your tea miss?"

"None, please. Thank you very much Mrs. DeTemms." The elf's voice snapped Edwynn out of his trance. The voice was surprising deep, and a little bit manly. As the stranger reached for the cup of tea, Edwynn saw that she was, in fact, gigantic. She was actually kneeling on the floor, not seated as Edwynn first thought. Her head was at the same level as Edwynn's aunt, and her one hand seemed to envelop the teacup entirely. She was dressed oddly as well. Her pants were apparently buckskin, and her sleeveless vest was leather. It was dyed black and lined with fleece. She had no weapons that Edwynn could see, but an overlarge backpack rested against one of the kitchen walls.

"Did you hear what I said young man? Go fetch the lady of the house. And be quick about it too, or my husband will hear of it. Now shoo!"

His aunt's insistence drove Edwynn from the kitchen. As the door closed, Edwynn could hear Claudette's apologies about her nephew who had nothing but flax between his ears.

The boy wandered back into the main area of the house in a dreamlike daze. A real Night Elf. Here. This was the stuff of legends. Night Elves were native to Kalimdor. The only people Edwynn knew who had ever even seen a Night Elf were Marshall McBride and Deputy Willem. Those two had served with the alliance armies at the Battle of Mount Hyjal. Willem had told Edwynn that the Elves were immortal, and that their powerful druidic magic was the only reason the Burning Legion had not crushed the Alliance and enslaved the world.

Still in a daze somewhat, Edwynn stepped out the front door of the manor. Across the yard, Myrista was standing at the gate. She seemed to have regained her composure, so he dashed across the yard to give her the news.

"You're never gonna believe this." He said once he was within earshot. "There's a Night Elf here. A real one."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know. She's in the kitchen right now with my aunt, having tea. She's TALL."

"Is she alone?" Myrista asked.

"Um.. I don't know. I think so."

"Do you think she's the one those strangers at the abbey were looking for?"

Myrista's question was like a slap on the face to Edwynn. '_By the Light I'm dense._' He thought. He had been so awestruck by seeing an elf that all thoughts of this morning's events had been pushed from his mind.

Myrista began walking towards the manor, and Edwynn followed as his mind raced. Should he sneak away, run back to the abbey, and tell Jorik? He decided against that. Word traveled fast in Northshire, and if all the farmhands knew the elf was here, the entire abbey would know by nightfall. Edwynn decided that it would be better to learn more about the visitor, and then get the more detailed information back to Jorik.

Once within the building, Myrista gave Edwynn her schoolbag and then moved towards the rear of the house. She knocked gently on the kitchen door before entering. Edwynn followed closely behind her.

"Goodness, and here's the Lady Crownguard herself." Edwynn's aunt stood and curtsied. Edwynn rolled his eyes. His aunt only did that around company. Peering over Myrista's shoulder, Edwynn could see that the elven woman had stood up. She had to bend at the waist a little to avoid hitting her head on the ceiling.

"How do you do Lady Crownguard. My name is Queren Karlalalus. But among humans I am called Mythril. I would like it very much if you would call me that as well."

"It's very nice to meet you Mythril. Please call me Myrista." The lady of the house curtsied to the elf. The elf simply stood there, blinking her star-filled eyes for a moment. After a moment she tried to imitate the action. It was a clumsy attempt at best, and she only got a half bow before it seemed as though Mythril was about to stumble and fall down.

"Please forgive me." The night elf stammered and seemed to blush a velvet shade. "This is my first journey into human lands, and yours is the first house I've stayed in. Please forgive my rudeness."

That statement stuck fast in Edwynn's mind. Northshire was deep in the heart of the kingdom, surrounded on all sides by human territories or impassable mountains. It was almost impossible to get here without passing half a dozen towns or hamlets. '_Yet the strangers this morning had said much the same thing.'_

"I was just telling out visitor that we've never had a night elf grace our house before." Claudette poured a cup of tea for Myrista. "I'm sure you must've seen the most fascinating things on your journey from… eh… I'm sorry Lady Mythril, what was the name of that amazing place?"

"Tedresill. And please, it's just 'Mythril'". The visitor seemed uncomfortable, her ears twitching slightly. She was also blinking rapidly, like someone who had not slept in a long time. "Really it is very nice to meet you all, but it was not my intention to tarry long. I only happened upon your home by chance. I was wondering if there was an inn nearby where I might be able to procure food and lodging for the night. I really am quite tired."

Edwynn saw an opportunity and seized it. "The Golden Lion is in Goldshire, about a half day's travel by foot to the south." He said. "But it's so late in the day that you would not make it there by nightfall. Why not stay here tonight? We've plenty of room and food both.

All three women stared at Edwynn. His aunt was practically white with fury and embarrassment. Mythril seemed to be considering the offer. Myrista's face was flat, but her eyes seemed to smile. "You ARE bold today Edwynn. You know you've no right to extend my hospitality this way. Have you forgotten whose house this is?"

"No, my lady." Edwynn lowered his eyes to the floor. He hunched his shoulders a bit and stepped back slightly.

"I'm sorry." Mythril reached for her bag. "I did not mean to put any of you to any trouble."

"Nonsense." Myrista turned he gaze back to her guest. "Edwynn may have spoken out of turn, but his advice is sound. We have plenty of grace in our home, and we can offer it to anyone who calls upon us. Please stay. I'll have a room made up for you and we can dine together tonight."

"Only if it would be no trouble. I can pay of course." Mythril reached into her bag.

"No payment is required. You would be our guest and it would…" Myrista's voice caught in her throat as Mythril presented a blood red crystal gemstone the size of a small cat. It was rough and uncut, and looked as though it weighed several pounds.

"Among my people" the night elf began. "It is customary for a guest to present a host with a small gift. I came across this star ruby in my travels. It would honor me if you would accept it."

"I… we couldn't" Myrista stammered. Claudette shot her a look that would freeze water. The stone would probably pay the estate's taxes for a year. Mythril took Myrista's words to have a different meaning.

"Oh, my apologies. My people place little value in stones and metals. We prefer green and growing things. But I had heard that men and dwarves would barter for things of this nature. I am sorry if I insulted you."

"Oh, please, please, no." Claudette looked like she was about to faint. "We'll take it."

Myrista cleared her throat loudly to cut the older woman off. "What Mrs. DeTemms means to say is that you were not misinformed about how humans view rocks of this nature. The stone would be of great value among my people. Far more than room and board for a month would cost. It would be unethical of us to accept."

Claudette made a noise that reminded Edwynn of a hen about to lay an egg. Mythril bowed deeply from the waist and placed the stone on the table.

"Unethical in may be to accept, but the stone is mine to give as I choose. In all honesty, I would be glad to be rid of it. It is dreadfully heavy and I try not to travel with anything that has not immediate use in the wild. I was about to throw it by the roadside, but if you would not mind taking it off my hands, I would appreciate the favor.

"I would be honored. Claudette, could you make certain that Corbin places this fine gift in the cabinet in the study. The one with my father's books, which uses the silver key. Edwynn, please see that our visitor gets settled in the guest bedroom. Mythril, I'll hope to see you at sunset for supper?"

"Thank you for your kindness." Mythril bowed from the waste again. Myrista curtsied in return and Claudette performed the action as fast as possible before practically snatching the ruby and rushing out to find her husband. Myrista left, and Mythril hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and followed Edwynn as he led her back to the main hall, and then up the stairs.

"Did you travel all the way from Tedrasill alone?" the boy asked.

"No, I had companions. But we were separated during the journey, and I have not seen them in some time."

Mention of her friends brought a dark look to Mythril, and her ears seemed to droop somewhat. Edwynn wondered if they showed night elf emotions in a way similar to human eyebrows. He smiled as he imagined playing cards against an elf, and using it's ears as a 'tell'.

The guest room was the first one on the left at the top of the stairs. AS she entered, she casually tossed her bag on the bed and threw open the window. A gentle breeze swept in, and the elf inhaled deeply.

"Your name is Edwynn, right?"

"Yes m'lady."

The tall woman grimaced. "Please. Just call me Mythril." Edwynn saw her ears twitch at this, and assumed her earlier presumption to be true.

"Sorry Mythril. Yes, Edwynn is my name."

"Edwynn, you seem like a swift shoot. I was wondering..."

"A what?"

The elf paused and smiled ever so slightly. "A young plant that sprouts quickly. Someone of intelligence, with a bright future. Could you get me a needle and thread? I am afraid my cloths could do with some mending before supper.

"Sure I can…" Edwynn stopped as Mythril proceeded to unbutton and remove her vest.

Edwynn was 16 winters old. More than old enough to know what a grown woman's body looked like under her shirt. And while Mythril's simple linen bra was cut for comfort, it certainly left little to the imagination. Edwynn's gasp for breath came not from looking at the night elf, but from her vest. Mythril held it up in front of the window, and the afternoon sun streamed thru two long vertical cuts down the back. They extended from shoulder blade to waist. In the sunlight, Edwynn could see the black leather near the edges was stained with blood.

"What happened?" Edwynn asked in awe.

"The scratches? They're from a dragon. Well, just a drake really. Actually, there were two of them. Eleune saw a woman do something foolish and thankfully she blessed me with more luck than I had any hope to wish for. One drake was going to eat me, and the other decided they should share. A fight broke out and I managed to escape with my life."

"That's incredible. How long ago did this happen?"

"Yesterday. Just outside your valley in fact. Now if you don't mind, I'll take that needle so I can try to be somewhat presentable before supper.

"Right away." Edwynn left quickly, closing the door behind him. Five minutes later Claudette's stitching kit was in Mythril's hand and Edwynn was outside the manor, over the wall, and running as fast as he could towards the abbey. He had collected as much information as he could expect. Hopefully Jorik would know what to do.


	6. Unwelcome Callers

Chapter 4 – Unwelcome Callers

"Dinner is servered m'lady."

Claudette's voice penetrated Myrista's concentration. The adept opened her eyes and stared at the feather in her left hand. It glowed brightly, and bristled as though being consumed by an invisible flame. Myrista then looked down at her bare feet, and down six inches further to the floor. Between the floor and Myrista's feet was nothing but air. Air made solid by the magic of the Light. She looked back at the feather. As the spell consumed the last of its fronds the magic faded and Myrista gently sank to touch the floor.

Myrista donned her evening shoes, then proceeded downstairs. Claudette had set the table for dinner with the best settings they had. Myrista personally disliked entertaining. This had been her father's domain, but it was her duty as the only Crownguard at the manor to put on the best show possible. Edwynn's aunt would constantly remind her of how important it was to maintain appearances.

"You look lovely Lady Crownguard." She heard as she entered the dining room. Mythril was kneeling near the side of the table, at the place reserved for honored guests. Her size had caused problems in finding a chair that would fit her. She had finally insisted on using no chair at all, stating that it was the way of her people. She had also requested that the windows be opened, but a rainstorm had swept into Elwynn Forest. Weather in the spring was a swift affair, suddenly starting and often vanishing just as quickly. The rain could be heard coming down in sheets outside. Although the Crownguards were wealthy enough to have glass in their windows, Claudette insisted on closing the wooden shutters to prevent any panes from breaking.

"Thank you Mythril, you look very nice yourself. I love what you've done with your hair." Mythril's green locks had somehow become curled and living vines and flowers were now nestled within her tresses. She wore the same leather outfit she had been wearing in the kitchen, but the dust of the road had been washed away. Myrista took the seat opposite the night elf.

Mythril looked from her host around at the rest of the large dining table. She noted that it was empty except for the two place settings. "Will no one else be joining us?"

Myrista's weak smile was born of frustration. "In truth, I wish the others would join us. It is customary that noblemen not eat alongside their servants. My father was quite strict that only the Crownguards and their guests should dine together."

"Oh?" The elf seemed to settle in somewhat and opened her place setting. Inside were a normal sized human knife, fork, and spoon. Mythril sighed and cast her eyes around the room. Her gaze fell upon a marble bust of a proud looking man in the corner of the chamber. "Is that your father?"

"No, that's my uncle. Sir Mallius Crownguard. He is a paladin of Stormwind, and a former member of the Brotherhood of the Horse. This manor and the surrounding farmlands were awarded to him in honor of services he performed for King Llane."

"Then he is a brave knight?"

"Oh yes. He fought in the first war against the Horde. The stories say he was one of the first men to kill an orc. After Stormwind fell to the enemy, my uncle fought beside Sir Lothar against the horde in Kaz Modan. He was there at the battle of Blackrock Spire, and after Sir Lothar was killed, it was my uncle who recovered Lothar's runeblade and returned it to the king."

"He sounds quite valiant. Is he not here now?"

"No. He has not been home in… a long time. The king has sent our army to Lorderon to battle the undead scourge. My uncle usually writes letters, but we have not gotten any in quite some time."

"I see. Is your father a knight too?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but Mythril could see immediately that asking it upset Myrista. The host tensed up and began picking at her napkin. "No, my father Nicholas is away. He should be back any day now."

As if on cue, the door to the kitchen opened and Claudette entered. The timing made Mythril suspect that the housekeeper had been eavesdropping. She was wearing a string of pearls as she pushed a cart heaping with vegetables, and laid out a meal before Mythril. A fine selection of spring berries, carrots, beats, and peas accented a delicious looking rabbit stew. Claudette ladled the elf a large serving.

"I heard that your people have powers over nature. I hope a helping of hare would not offend you."

"Why would it?" Mythril asked the elderly woman.

"Oh…well I heard that elves could talk to animals. I didn't know how you felt about… eating meat."

The look Mythril gave Claudette reminded Myrista of a child who was not fooled by a man with a fake beard dressed as Greatfather Winter. "It is true that my people are blessed by Elune to be closer to her kingdom, than your own people. Many of us are sensitive to the voice of the wind, or the creatures of the natural order. We understand intricately the relationships between hunter and prey. Rabbits are small, ravenous beasts who eat too much, breed too much, and certainly would overrun us all if their predators did not keep them in check."

"Oh, well I guess I never thought of it that way."

"Indeed." Mythril paused and seemed to dwell on something for a moment. "I suppose that if I was less sensitive, I might think of a rabbit as being… cute. The type of animal a human or dwarf would think of as a good pet. I can see how one of your people might think one of us would be adverse to their demise." The night elf paused and seemed to reflect for a moment before continuing. "Thank you Claudette. I feel that I have a better understanding now of how your kind thinks."

"Is that why you came to Stormwind? To learn more about how humans think?" Myrista asked as Claudette began serving her mistress's meal.

Mythril's ears wiggled oddly. She ate a bit of stew and wiped her mouth with her napkin before replying. "I do not wish to insult you Myrista. You are a most gracious host. But I am afraid I cannot discuss why I am here."

Myrista blinked in a kind of dumbfounded awe. "You can't tell me why you came to my house?"

"Oh goddess, no! Please do not misunderstand. I came to your house because I was hoping to find food and lodging for the night. What I meant was that I am compelled to not discuss why I left Kalimdor."

"Oh my…" was the only response Myrista had. Claudette finished serving the drinks, then departed back towards the kitchen. The young priestess thought about what the elf said as she sipped her stew. It was too hot. Myrista had a brief fantasy about Mythril being some kind of princess in exile. Far more likely, she realized, was that the newcomer was a criminal of some form. Perhaps she had stolen the star ruby, and was fleeing the wrath of it's rightful owners. Myrista decided to end her uncertainty.

"Are you in some sort of trouble that we should know about?"

Mythril said nothing. She had stopped eating and was staring at her food. There was a knock at the dining room's double-door, but Myrista ignored it and sat looking at the elf.

"Mythril, what sort of…"

"I should go." Her guest said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

The knock came again at the chamber doors. Myrista shot the doors a dirty look but said nothing. "Um, I don't understand. Did I say something to insult you? I didn't mean to pry."

"It is nothing that you've said, good lady. I should apologize to you for my attitude. It is not our nature to be deceitful to those we respect. In truth, my circumstances are actually quite dire, and my will to continue on my quest has all but left me. I was hoping to gain some respite here, if only for a few hours. Perhaps…"

The knock at the door came again, this time accompanied by Corbin's voice. "Mistress Myrista, I must regrettably interrupt."

Myrista sighed and stood up. "Please give me just a moment." She then went to the chamber doors, and quickly opened one and stepped outside. Corbin stood alone in the hallway. Myrista shut the door behind her and rounded on him. "What in the Light's name could be so important?"

"I'm sorry m'lady, but you have a caller."

"What? In this weather? Who is it?"

"One of your classmates from the abbey. Probably one of my nephew's hoodlum friends. He seems quite put out."

"Really?" Sarcasm laced Myrista's voice. She began moving towards the great hall. "Where's Edwynn?"

"I don't know m'lady. He hasn't been seen since this afternoon. If he's smart, he won't left me find him, because he knows I will whip him raw when I see him."

The pair arrived in the main hall to find Claudette attending to a young man, soaked to the bone by the weather. Myrista recognized him instantly.

"Brogan? What are you doing here at this hour?"

The adept turned from Claudette to Myrista, and she knew at once something was terribly wrong. He looked like a ghoul. His eyes were bloodshot, like he had been drinking or crying. The rain had drained all the warmth from his skin, which in turn was now a pasty white. His blonde hair was matted down on his head and neck, and he was starting to create a puddle on the foyer's floor.

"Edwynn isn't here Brogan. I'm sorry if you…"

"Where's your father's diary Myrista?"

Myrista stopped in her tracks. Corbin and Claudette shot each other a long glance but said nothing.

M…my father didn't keep a diary. You must be mistaken. Now what's going on?"

"You should ask your servants to leave."

Corbin bristled and immediately objected. "See here young man. You are talking to a lady in her own house. Now I do not like your tone. Perhaps it would be best if you left." The older man reached out to take Brogan's arm.

"It's bound in black leather." The boy said as he twisted away. "It's held closed with a thick black cord, wrapped around a silver wolf's head clasp affixed to the cover. The pages are bone white, and your father's handwriting is small and fine, making it difficult to read.

"Corbin, stop!" Myrista ordered as her man finally got a firm grip on Brogan's arm. "How do you know all of this?"

"Dismiss your servants and I'll tell you."

Myrista's lower lip began to tremble. She clenched her fists tightly as she took a deep breath. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. "Master and Misses DeTemms, please ask Mythril to wait for me. I will see to this."

"I must protest my lady." Corbin began. "This rude person should be tossed out immediately."

"Do it now, Corbin!" like earlier in the afternoon, Myrista's self control began to crumble. Claudette gathered her skirts around her and spead towards the kitchen. Corbin released Brogan's arm, but left more slowly. After a couple of seconds the two schoolmates were alone.

"Take me to the book Myrista."

"First tell me how you know what it looks like. By the shadow's kiss, tell me how you even know he had one."

Brogan ran a hand thru his hair, sending a cascade of water splashing loudly onto the hardwood floor. He rapidly blinked his bloodshot eyes and Myrista thought he was about to start crying. Her mind raced back to this afternoon, to the road from the abbey, and how torn Brogan had seemed before he asked about her father's whereabouts.

"I…I know about the diary because I had a dream about it." Brogan looked at her, afraid of some reaction. She said nothing, so he continued. "Well, not exactly a dream. And not just one. It's more substantial than just a dream. It's like I'm awake, but I can't really control myself. I see the diary and…and I hear a voice."

Brogan tried to gauge how Myrista was reacting to his words. Her face was flat, but her eyes burned and her nostrils flared as she breathed.

"Follow me." She said. She then turned and almost bolted towards the rear of the house. Across from the dining room was her father's study. Myrista entered, and as Brogan followed her inside, she closed the door behind her and locked it.

"It started about a year and a half ago." She spoke more to herself and to Brogan. "My father was having trouble sleeping. He didn't think I knew, but I could tell something was wrong. He started drinking a lot, and he started staying here in the study a lot. We should hear him talking softly to himself sometimes. At least, it was soft in the beginning."

Myrista moved to a cabinet near one side of the room. It was a beautiful glass and wood construct. Held within in were several of the family heirlooms and treasures. Two rows of old books were on the bottom. Above that was a shelf containing several battle trophies of Myrista's uncle Mallius. A wicked looking whip, a broken sword, an obsidian hourglass, and a pendant in the shape of a horse's head. On the topmost shelf had been placed the uncut gemstone Mythril had given them. She pulled a silver key from her pocket and unlocked the cabinet.

"Last spring daddy started getting worse. He stopped drinking completely, almost stopped eating. He would go to the abbey and bring back obscure tomes from the library there. Books about geography, and astronomy, and magic. He became totally uninterested in the estate, or his friends, or… his family."

Reaching into the cabinet, Myrista pulled out a think green tome from the bottom shelf. Behind it was a thin black ledger. The young woman delicately pulled it out and stared at it.

"My daddy started talking to other people then, people I couldn't see or hear. They would ask him questions. They asked him to do things for them. He shouted at them a lot. Told them to stay away from his family. The last time I saw my daddy he was at that desk, by the window, writing in this book. I had rushed home from the abbey to tell him something… I don't even remember what it was now. I threw open the door to the study and daddy, he screamed at me. But it was the words he said… they were in another language. A language I didn't know. Then he ran across the room and grabbed me. He picked me up and just threw me out… just threw me right out of the room. Then he slammed the door and locked it. The next morning the door was open and he was gone.

"What did he say to you?" Brogan asked.

"He said 'Alkarzoth Nekrothian Socra'. I'll never forget it."

"Al'karzooth Nekrothean Sukra" Brogan repeated, altered slightly.

Myrista looked at him for the first time since they entered the room. "What does it mean?"

Brogan glanced at the hallway door. The wood looked thick, but he was sure that someone could listen through it if they really wanted to. "You know what language it is, right?"

"Yes I do, and I don't care. You should have seen brother Paxton's face when I asked him to translate it for me. He refused to help me, refused to even try! Please Brogan, those were the last words my father ever said to me. I have to know what he said."

Brogan closed his bloodshot eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "It means: I told you to stay away. Well… kind of . There's a subtlety to it. I'm not very good at…"

Myrista threw herself into his arms and started sobbing hysterically. "It's my fault! It's all my fault! If I hadn't come in… He wouldn't have gotten angry… He wouldn't have left…"

Brogan didn't know how to react. He started to put his arms around her in a comforting manner, but stopped when he realized that his rain soaked sleeves would just get her wet. He resolved to gently pat her head until she calmed down.

Brogan's hand suddenly stopped and his body stiffened. Myrista looked up and saw him starting intently across the room. She followed his gaze to the window above the desk. The shutters had been blow open by the wind. Outside the evening was dark, and the rain was thick.

"Someone's out there." Brogan answered her unspoken question. "I saw…"

The window shattered inward. Rain and glass flew into the room. A heartbeat later a figure entered, a man. Rain covered black leather and a red mask were all Myrista saw before her eyes were drawn to the gleaming blade in his hand.

"Bandits!" Brogan screamed like a girl and moved to place himself between the man and Myrista. She watched in terror as a second figure appeared at the window. The first one began to circle the desk and approach the two of them. Brogan reached into the open cabinet, grabbed the broken sword, and threw it awkwardly at the intruder. The masked man parried it with his knife and a laugh.

Myrista broke away from Brogan and ran for the door. She grabbed the handle and pulled, but it wouldn't budge. She glanced back to see that both bandits were now in the room, closing in slowly on the unarmed Brogan. She turned back and pulled harder on the door. It was then that she realized that she herself had locked it. As she threw the latch, the door flew open and she practically fell into the hallway.

Screaming for help, Myrista ran towards the main hall. She saw Corbin stumbling towards her, his chest red with blood. Behind him a masked man raised a wicked club, and with a single blow ended his victim's life. Behind that man, half a dozen other bandits crowded the foyer around a woman standing next to an enormous red hound. Myrista's screaming had drawn all of their attention.

The girl turned and ran back the way she had come. Across from the study, the dining room's double-door was gaping open. Ducking inside, she saw the two spots laid out for dinner, but Mythril was nowhere to be seen. Myrista fled towards the kitchen, but a bestial noise sounded behind her and a heavy weight hit her in the back. The floor flew up to meet her and then everything was black.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Brogan lay dying in the corner of the study. The only thing stopping the blood from a wound in his stomach was own hands clutching the skin together. He kept slipping in and out of consciousness. He was vaguely aware of people moving around the room speaking.

"The dark god has granted us favor indeed today." A woman's voice said. "It's here! The book we've sought for so long is here! And look Crassus, all of these other volumes have value to us as well. 'The Rise of Neitherguard Keep', the Magic of the Stars'. By the shadow, here's a book penned by Archmagus Khadgar himself.

A second voice, high-pitched and whiney, interrupted. "My men had finished searching the manor. There's no sign of the elf or the item you described."

"It does not matter." The woman responded. "We don't need her or her stolen trinket anymore. This is a trove of unfathomable power."

"No." A third voice, deep and smooth sounded. "This is too convenient. Almost all the resources we would need to complete our task fall right into our laps? I don't like it."

"It is the will of the Dark God, Crassus!"

"It is a trap Onessa! Don't you see? These books are here because someone else has begun the work. That means someone else has read the scared tome."

"Who? One of these village simpletons?"

"I doubt it. Garrik, what do you know of the man who's house this is?

"Not much." The high-pitched voice answered. "Some guy who went crazy and disappeared. The housekeepers and his kid are the only ones who live here now."

"We'll need to find him. Keep the girl alive. Loot the manor, then burn it. Kill anyone else you see.

A weak moan escaped Brogan's lips. The voices stopped.

"How much do you think he heard?"

"It matters not." The woman's voice answered. "My pets will feast on him."

Brogan managed to open his eyes in time to see the demonic hound approaching. Its massive paws stopped right before him, and he almost gagged on the beast's sulfur-laden breath. Jaws gapped open, and the boy could tell the creature was watching him. Intelligent eyes seemed to drink in his fear. The open maw descended towards his head.

"Stop. Please… don't." He heard himself beg. The words sounded odd in his ears.

"Hold!" Onessa's voice rang out. Brogan heard her footsteps approach him.

"Please, please don't kill me." Brogan pleaded. Something was happening as he spoke. His tongue and lips were moving oddly, and the words he spoke sounded harsh and alien.

"What's he say'n?" The man named Garrik asked. "I can't understand him."

"I can." The woman stared at the dying boy, fascinated. "This is most interesting. Keep this one alive too. Now, let's get out of here."

Rough hands grabbed Brogan and hauled him up from his pool of blood. Pain exploded across his midsection and he screamed. One of his captors was kind enough to beat him unconscious.


	7. Shedding skin

Chapter 5 – The color of your wings

Edwynn was soaked.

The afternoon run to the abbey had proved completely useless. Jorik had been nowhere that Edwynn could find. The stable master had vanished sometime after the three students had left the abbey for their homes. Edwynn had searched the entire complex from the basement to the belfry. The only thing he discovered was his instructor sister Wecenda putting on rogue and perfume. She too was looking for Jorik, and proving just as successful.

About an hour after sunset Edwynn gave up. His mentor had simply left the abbey, there was no other explanation. A fast mare was missing from the stable. Although there were no witnesses, Edwynn assumed that Mr. Kerrigan had ridden south to Stormwind to inform his former colleagues in the capital of the strangers that had arrived this afternoon. So, in a mood that matched the weather, Edwynn began the journey home.

The early spring rain was bitterly cold. Edwynn's wool tunic and linen pants offered almost no protection from the elements. Also, one of his shoes leaked. He had hoped to be able to tell Jorik about Mythril and be back at the manor in time for dinner.

He had not eaten since lunchtime. Now he knew that he would have been missed, and Corbin undoubtedly had a vicious lecture for him, followed by a stern beating. Edwynn did not think his uncle a cruel man, but he also had little love for him. He knew his uncle was trying his best to raise the boy the only way he knew how. Corbin constantly reminded Edwynn that if he didn't shape up, Myrista might choose to not keep him on as staff at the Crownguard manor. That meant being kicked out to live as a farmhand or a miner. The kingdom had too many of both, which was why so many took up banditry or left to join the army. As for the military, Edwynn knew he would make a poor soldier. Fighting and dying for other people's causes was not his idea of a good time.

Being a bandit certainly sounded exciting. Until this afternoon, that had been Edwynn's unofficial goal. That, or running off to join the Darkmoon Faire. But Jorik's secret had opened Edwynn's eyes to new possibilities. The idea of being a spy for Stormwind had set a kind of fire to his blood. Unfortunately it did little to warm his body.

Edwynn smelled the smoke first. It was near the spot where Myrista had yelled at Brogan this afternoon. It was a nasty, acidic smell that carried the hint of overcooked meat. At first the boy thought he was downwind of some foolish traveler's campfire, but soon the orange glow beyond the trees told him that something horrible had happened.

He started running then. Sloshing thru muddy puddles and almost twisting his ankle when a loose rock snared him. As he rounded the bend, he saw Crownguard manor ablaze. Black smoke poured from the open front door, and every window belched orange flame. The rain sizzled as it hit the rooftop shingles, but did little else to douse the fire. Edwynn darted forward, looking for his family or anyone from the nearby homesteads, which might have seen the pyre.

The only thing he found was carnage.

A dozen paces from the front door was the well. Apparently several of the farmhands had tried to start a bucket brigade. Someone or something had attacked them, and their mangled bodies were strewn around the yard. The firelight cast everything in a orange-yellow glow, but Edwynn could still see the blood. It pooled like oil, forming nasty black puddles around the bodies. Some of the corpses had been hacked to pieces, and many limbs were lying far from any possible owners

Edwynn had never imagined such butchery was possible. The stories of the undead scourge or the orcish invasion seemed like distant fairy tales. In a kind of dumbstruck stupor they boy stumbled around the yard staring at the bodies. Occasionally he recognized a pair of boots, or a weathered jacket. He wandered like that for several minutes before he heard voices, and a cackling laughter.

Sprinting around the corner, he saw two bandits. The firelight seemed to deepen the blacks of their leathers, but the crimson handkerchiefs they used as masks left the tops of their faces exposed. They were arguing about some trinket they had looted from a corpse at their feet. Edwynn cried out when he saw that it was a pearl necklace, and that the body at their feet was Claudette.

His outburst drew their attention, and they forgot their argument and turned towards him. Long and wicked looking daggers occupied their hands.

"Looks like we missed one." The skinny bandit sneered. His larger companion began circling towards the woods, forcing Edwynn's back to the burning manor.

Glancing around desperately, Edwynn saw the broken shaft of a hoe gripped in the hand of a nearby corpse. He grabbed it and pulled it from the limp fingers. He held it up before him, like a child playing knights and goblins.

"Oh, this one's got some fight in him. I think I'm gonna piss myself." The skinny one cackled a laugh.

'_This is it._' Edwynn thought. '_I'm going to die._' From somewhere deep inside him a terrible anger welled up. The bodies of his family, his burning home, the dead farmhands, it all flashed before his eyes. The anger pushed aside his fear and a suicidal madness took hold of him. He raised the stick over his head and let out a guttural warcry.

The skinny one laughed then. But his laughter was cut off when his larger companion cried out in alarm. He pointed as blackness seemed to detach itself from the woods. It was an animal of some kind. It was sleek and cat shaped, but easily larger than any wolf Edwynn had ever seen. The creature seemed to melt into the rain and shadow. But most striking were its eyes. They glowed yellow from within.

"What manner of hellspawn is this?" the skinny bandit yelped. The larger one drew a thin metal spike from his belt and threw it at the shadowy creature. It was a sloppy throw and the blade sailed harmlessly into the woods. The creature roared then, and rushed the big man. He fell screaming to the ground as the beast pounced upon him.

Edwynn turned to the skinny bandit. The masked man watched his comrade for a couple of seconds before turning and running towards the woods. The light from the blaze caught on the pearl necklace in his left hand. Edwynn's rage resurfaced and the boy screamed and ran after him. The brigand was fast, and in the span of three heartbeats they were both among the trees.

As the forest closed in, the trees blocked the light from the burning building. Edwynn could barely see four paces in front of him, but his prey's panicked breathing revealed his position. After nearly half a minute Edwynn finally caught up to the bandit. The boy swung his weapon at the back of the thin man's knees, sending him tumbling to the forest floor.

Crying out with fury and rage, he began swinging wildly at his victim. The first two strikes were rewarded with meaty thuds. The third however sounded against metal as the bandit blocked the attack with his knife. On the fourth swing, the man actually caught the shaft with his hand, and kicked Edwynn away. The boy's weapon flew out of his hands, and the bandit slashed at Edwynn's legs with his knife. The pain lanced up from Edwynn's left knee. The boy cried out and stumbled backwards. His hands slipped on a wet tree and he fell.

"Shoulda run the other way boy." The thin man cackled as he picked himself up. "That stray dog could have saved your life if you hadn't wanted to be a hero. Now I'll just have to gut ya."

The man pulled his mask down, revealing an ugly face and a mouth with only a half dozen rotted teeth. He sneered as he began to advance towards Edwynn. As he stepped forward, his foot seemed to catch on a vine. A slithering sound issued up from all around him, and as he looked down, he saw tree roots and grasses moving like snakes. Thick wooden limbs erupted from the ground and encased him up to his knees. He screamed and began to slash at the vines, but to no avail. He actually cried out to Edwynn for help. As he looked over towards the boy, his gaze caught twin yellow eyes glowing from the shadows. His scream was cut off as the creature flew out of the woods and ripped his throat out with its teeth.

Edwynn threw up his arms and squeezed his eyes shut tight. It was over in seconds, but he would never forget the crunch of bone or the sounds of shredding flesh and cloth. When it stopped, there was only the sound of rainfall and the sharp pain in his leg where the bandit had cut him. After a couple seconds Edwynn dared to look up.

The beast was gone. In its place was Mythril. She stood with her back to him and Edwynn was amazed again at how far she towered over him. She turned towards him, and Edwynn wondered stupidly why her mouth was covered with blood. Her hands too, clear to the elbows. But when she blinked, and her brightly glowing eyes vanished for an instant, that was when he knew. She was a druid, one of the elven shape shifters. She had transformed herself into the great cat and murdered two men. No, not murdered. Those men were killers, and she had saved his life.

They stared at each other in silence for several seconds. Then she licked some of the blood from her lips and swallowed.

It was that little action that sent him over the edge. Edwynn burst into tears, the events of the night all rushing back to him at full force. Wave after wave of emotion flooded him. Terror, anger, and misery. It was simply too much to take. The night elf said nothing, but began wiping the blood from her arms, and pulling tiny bits of gore from her finger nails. After several moments, she spoke.

"This is the first time you have seen men die?" She asked.

Edwynn nodded. He struggled to regain control of himself.

Mythril stared stoically. "It is this hour, this moment, which will decide your destiny. Among my people it is called '_Ten'Sortal_'. I believe I heard one of your own soldiers call it 'baptism by fire'. When it is over, you will be a new person. The boy who wore your skin will be gone. The man you will become will have emerged, as a moth from a cocoon.

At that instant Edwynn sneezed violently. It sent a shudder through his whole body. This in turn jarred his leg and pain lanced up from his wound. The boy cried our involuntarily.

"You are wounded? Please allow me." Mythril reached a bloodsoaked hand forward. Edwynn felt himself shrink away in revulsion, This made the elf pause. He knew he was being childish, and forced himself forward. The elf looked at him approvingly but said nothing. Her hand moved aside his torn cloths to reveal the knife wound.

"It is not deep, but the blade was unclean, and this will probably become infected. With your permission, I can use my magic to heal you."

"Yes, please!" Edwynn almost begged. He wondered why she would even ask.

The druid spoke a single word and a green glow flowed from her hands. It covered his body and immediately the pain began to fade.. The skin grew and regenerated, and the wound closed completely. Edwynn smiled at her, and was about to thank her when he sneezed again.

"Your people are not as hardy against the elements as my own. This will help you." She placed her hand on Edwynn forehead. A jolt rippled thru his body and for an instant Edwynn felt his consciousness expand. His mind touched the trees, the birds, the insects. He saw through the eyes of an owl a mile west, and smelled the manor's fire from a family of wolves in a cave just to the north.

The effect was gone in an instant. What remained, however, was a heightened awareness of his surroundings. Edwynn felt more alive; faster and stronger. His mind seemed sharper too. And most importantly, the chill of the rain no longer seemed to bother him.

"What was that?" He asked.

"I have given you the Mark." The druid extended her enormous hand and Edwynn took it. She pulled him to his feet. "You are now touched by the wild. The grace of Cenarius will be with you… for a while at least."

"What happened?"

Mythril's ears did a funny movement. "A boy came to the manor just after sunset. That boy and Myrista went into a room. Several minutes later I heard a window break in the kitchen, and hushed voices. Then men in masks came in, and attacked your people. There were too many to fight, so I slipped away. The men looted the house, and then set fire to it. They ambushed any who came to investigate."

"You couldn't use your magic to save them?"

Mythril shook her head. "If these were just bandits, perhaps. But they were not alone. There were two outsiders among them. A man and a woman, both wearing black traveling cloaks. The woman was a witch, commanding a set of demon hounds. There was no way I could have struck out at them and survived."

"They were hunting for you , weren't they?"

The starlight eyes grew wide, but the elf said nothing. Edwynn set his jaw and stared ferociously into her glowing irises. "Those two people you spoke of, they came to the abbey this afternoon. They were looking for strange beasts, or travelers. They're after you aren't they. And they killed everyone… because of you."

The elves ears drooped somewhat, and Edwynn knew that he had discovered the truth. She said nothing.

"Why? Why were they after you?"

"They are evil, Edwynn DeTemms. Tonight was not the first night of death that has come by their hands. And it will almost certainly not be the last. They worship a dark power. They work now to bring a winter that will see no spring. It is Cenarius's will that I move to oppose them, and I have done so. I have proven to be a small, but well placed thorn, and they would burn the world to pluck me out. I am sorry that they came here, but there was nothing I could do.

"You could have helped! You said you watched as they killed everyone! You could have tried!"

"They did not kill everyone. And I…"

"What?" The boy gasped.

The glowing eyes blinked. "Myrista Crownguard is alive, as is the boy who came to see her. They said they were taking them east, to a stronghold of the brigands."

"We have to rescue them."

Now it was Mythril's turn to gasp. "Who?"

"Us. You and me." Edwynn looked around the forest floor for a moment. He then reached down and picked up the bandit's long ugly knife.

"You are speaking madness, young human. The doe does not enter the nightsaber's den, no matter how many fawn are lost. Your friends are dead."

"We have the element of surprise" Edwynn swung the knife. It had surprisingly good balance. "And we have your magic."

The elf was silent for a moment. She tilted her head and seemed to see Edwynn for the first time. "And so we see the color of your wings, young moth. There will be no changing your mind will there?"

"No." Edwynn tried sheathing the knife in his belt, but it proved too uncomfortable. He simply held it in his hand.

"Very well. But it would be unwise to travel together. Move east along this direction and you will find their path. I will scout ahead and deal with any stray brigands we come across. You may not see me, but I will be with you."

With that, the night elf crouched down on all fours. Instantly her body melted away, and for an split second, Edwynn could see the sleek body of a black panther. A heartbeat later her body melted into the darkness of the forest, until only yellow eyes remained.

"I understand." Edwynn nodded to her and turned and headed east. The eyes followed for a couple of minutes, and then vanished. Edwynn heard the underbrush rustling, and then the darkness and the rain closed in around him. After a quarter of an hour, he found a wide deer trail. Dim moonlight and his enchanted senses showed him fresh horse tracks leading east towards the mountains. Edwynn took a deep breath, readied his knife, and set out after them.

…………………………………………………………………………………

Mythril sat on a tree branch nearly 15 feet overhead. Her tail lashed with indecision. As the small boy passed beneath her, she shook her head slowly. Whispering a prayer to Elune that his end would be swift and painless, she leapt silently to the ground and began to work her way south towards Stormwind.


	8. Woodland Predators

Chapter 6 – Woodland Predators

The Mark of the Wild was going to get Edwynn killed.

Whatever magic Mytrhil had cast on him, it was filling him with raw emotion and impulsive instincts. He felt powerful. The ugly knife he had picked up weighted almost nothing in his enchanted hands. He started flipping it end over end as he moved up the trail.

Whenever children in Northshire pretended to battle monsters as they grew up, they always imagined themselves as powerful knights in shining armor. They attacked with swords and shields, charging in screaming at their opponents. That was the fool's way to fight, Jorik had said. Battling an enemy face to face, blade to blade, was for honor-bound heroes or military fodder. If your enemy was stronger, more experienced, or better equipped, you would die. Soldiers might get lucky for one or two battles, but sooner or later the odds would catch up with you. If you wanted to live through every fight, you had to win every fight, and to do this you had to be smarter and faster than your enemy. War was not a game, as some battlefield commanders seemed to treat it. You had to take every possible advantage, and exploit as many of your opponents weaknesses as possible. Never announce your presence. Always strike from behind. Take the cheap shots. Kick your foe while he was down. In a real fight, honor and chivalry did not matter. The only thing that mattered was who was fast, and who was dead.

Those thoughts raced thru Edwynn's mind as he moved up the deer trail. They made him reconsider his course of action. He really had no idea of what he was up against. The enemy stronghold could be a castle with a hundred men for all he knew. Walking to the front door was kind of out of the question.

The situation called for stealth, his mind rationalized. Unfortunately the magic made him feel invincible, as did the knowledge that somewhere in the woods around him a powerful druid was watching over him. Edwynn tried to remember all of the stories that he had been told about the battle of Mt. Hyjal, when the druids had defeated the Burning Legion. They said the very trees came alive and attacked, crushing the demons and undead with their branches, or throwing huge boulders thru the air. The image of the bandit's camp being overrun with walking trees, while the roots of the forest rose of out ground to crush men alive filled Edwynn's imagination.

The rain had finally stopped, but the trail was still muddy. Even if the sky had not been overcast, the canopy was too thick to see the sky. A bird chirped from a tree high above him. Edwynn heard it and then another similar one sounded further up the trail. They sounded like robins. Edwynn stopped and held perfectly still. Something was wrong, he could sense it. The leaves rustled as a gentle breeze swept thru the branches. His eyes scanned the wilderness searching for movement, but could see none. Glancing behind, he wished he had seen some sign of Mythril since they separated near the manor.

The robin sang out again, this time from the branches directly above his head. At that instant, the boy thought to himself '_Robins don't sing at night_.' He looked up just in time to see the net materialize from the darkness and envelop him.

Edwynn cried out and slashed with his knife, but to no avail. The net's ropes were thick and heavy. It's weight bore him to the ground. He struggled against the ropes, but the splash of boot steps in the mud stopped him.

"What's this then, boys?" The voice was female, high and cruel. Three figures surrounded him; all clad in the same dark leathers and crimson face masks. One had a club, one a knife, and the woman who spoke had two swords.

The feeling of power from the spell got the best of him. "Release me at once!" Edwynn cried. The two men laughed, but the woman was silent. She could hear that there was no fear in the boy's voice. For three predators to capture a mere child in the middle of the night, and not have him cry out for help… She inspected him closer. His ragged cloths suggested he was a mere commoner. The boy should be terrified.

"Who are you?" the woman drew one of her swords and pointed it towards the prisoner.

"My name is Edwynn. Release me at once if you want to live!" Again the two men laughed, but the woman did not. There was far too much confidence his voice for her taste. He spoke loudly, almost shouting. He managed to wiggle his knife within the ropes so that he might poke between the gaps.

"Hey Rosie" the bandit with the club spoke. "Isn't that Wedge's blade?"

Her eyes narrowed on the ugly weapon. The light was poor, but the blade was distinctly shaped. She frowned beneath her mask. Wedge was a superb knife fighter. No farm boy could have bested him.

"How old are you boy?" She asked.

"What's it to you?"

"Shut up and answer the question!"

Edwynn's eyes scanned the tree line. '_Where in the light's name is Mythril_' he thought to himself. He had to keep stalling these bandits until she showed up.

"I'm a lot older than I look. Now this is your last chance. Release me or die!"

"Hey…" the outlaw who had recognized the knife stiffened momentarily. By his voice, he sounded a bit slow. "Hey Rosie. Isn't Edwynn VanCleef's first na…"

"Shut up you idiot!" The woman lashed her sword at her subordinate, narrowly missing his face. Edwynn's mind raced. Who was VanCleef? Someone named Edwynn was the first... what? Edwynn was not a popular name, but neither was it particularly rare. If he made a bluff and was wrong, they would kill him.

"He's far too young you moron!" The woman said. She turned back to him, only to see his eyes searching the woods. "Are you alone?" she asked.

"No." he said.

"He's lying." The slow bandit chimed in.

"No. He's not." The woman said. She turned away from him, facing up the trail in the direction he had been traveling. Raising her hand to her lips beneath the mask, she made a bird call that sounded like a robin. After several seconds two calls came back. Then she returned her attention to the boy. "How many others are there?"

Edwynn's hand finally found the edge of the net. He hauled at it and threw it off. Scrambling to his feet, he stopped as the whistling of steel whipped past his head. He froze in place, facing the bandit leader. One of her swords was poised at his throat, pushing with almost enough pressure to break the skin.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you." He said. But he immediately swallowed and his skin became flushed with sweat. They had made plenty of noise. Mythril should have been there by now. Maybe she was too far away to hear the commotion. He had no choice now. Bluffing was his only way out.

"I'd hate to have to kill you like I killed Wedge."

The slow bandit gasped. "He knew Wedge's name, Rosie!"

"He only knew Wedge's name because you said it, you imbecile." The woman muttered through ground teeth. Edwynn could feel her hands shuddering with rage as the vibrations traveled up the sword blade. The woman's eyes were locked with his own. "So what's the story boy? Did you best Wedge in a duel or something?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact I…"

Faster than he could blink the woman's sword moved. There was a clang of steel and the ugly knife went sailing into the night. Before even knew he was disarmed Rosie's blade was back at his neck.

"Now I know you're a liar. How many others are in the forest boy?" She pushed forward gently with her sword and Edwynn felt a sharp pain at his throat. A tiny trickle of blood ran down to tickle his collarbone.

There was only one card left to play. "My father will hear of this!"

"And who is that?" she asked.

Their gazes were locked. He knew she wouldn't believe him, but he said it anyway. "V.. VanCleef."

Both of the men took a step back. They glanced at the woman with fear lined faces. Her own eyes showed the smile that her mask hid.

"What if he's telling the truth?" These were the first words from the third bandit.

"He's lying." Rosie relaxed her sword arm and withdrew her weapon. She wiped the blood from the tip and sheathed it. Tilting her head to the side, she regarded her prisoner for a moment, and then kicked Edwynn square in the stomach. The blow drove the air from his lungs and he collapsed on the ground.

"Bind his hands and throw a hood on him. Then take him to Garrik. Algor, come with me. He wasn't lying about being alone. We need to find his friends."

The pain in his stomach drove away any last vestiges of euphoria Edwynn had gained from Mythril's magic. As the bandits pulled his wrists behind him, he knew that there would be no rescue. The elf had not helped the men who were being ambushed at the manor, and she was not going to help him. She had abandoned him to die. As a smelly burlap sack descended over his head, Edwynn swore that he would curse her to hell with his dying breath.


	9. Oaths of Loyalty

Chapter 7 – Oaths of Loyalty

For an eternity all that Edwynn knew was stumbling forward and pain. One of the bandits was driving him towards some unseen destination. A couple of times he tried to talk to the man, but all his efforts were met with a blow to the back with something heavy and iron. The boy figured it was the quiet bandit, but there was no way to be certain.

Sometime during the march, Edwynn felt Mythril's magic fade from him. To a degree, he was thankful. The awful smell inside the bag faded. Unfortunatly his strength faded as well. It was probably after midnight, and he had not eaten since midday. Also, the cold of his wet cloths and soggy boots returned with a vengeance. He started sneezing, and his nose began running. It smeared against the inside of the bag. As he marched, seemingly for hours, the sloshing interior of the bag grew more and more disgusting. With his hands bound behind his back, hew as forced to endure it in silence and misery.

After a forever, his capture began to steer him left and right. The ground began to rise and become broken. Edwynn stumbled and fell constantly, but his merciless jailor just dragged him on and on; sometimes by pulling, sometimes by pushing. The heavy iron object was used more and more often.

Finally they arrived wherever they were going. Orange torchlight seeped thru the bag, and the ground leveled and became wooden benieth his boots. The air became much warmer, and he had the feeling of being indoors.

"What's this then?" A strong male voice sounded.

"Found 'em in the woods, coming up the trail you used, m'lord. Rosie thinks he wasn't alone, so she didn't kill 'em. Instead I had to drag 'em up here."

The bag was roughly pulled from his head, smearing mucus across his face. Edwynn blinked in the sudden light. He was in a house somewhere. Before him was the same warrior from the Abbey this afternoon. The man's cloths were wet from the rain, and he wore his sword at his side. He looked hard at Edwynn's befouled face, then scanned his clothing. After a moment he smiled.

"The stable boy? Well isn't this a surprise. Did Jorik send you to spy on us?"

Edwynn was about to say something, but instead sneezed violently. This sent snot flying forward onto the warrior's tunic.

"Bastard!" The man threw a swift right that shattered Edwynn's nose. The boy was driven to the ground by the force of the blow.

""Gah! Now it's on my gloves as well!" The man wiped his glove across Edwynn's shirt. Then a cruel hand grabbed his hair and forced him to look upwards.

"Listen well whelp! My name is Crassius, and I am not a man of patience. But I can be fair and merciful given the proper motivations. Now I want you to understand something boy. You are going to die tonight. Probably within the hour. If you answer my questions truthfully, then I will insure your death with be swift and your mother may even recognize her baby's body. The man jerked back hard on Edwynn's head, causing him to gasp in shock.

"If you lie to me, or resist in any way, I will make you beg for death. I know how to draw pain from a body like water from a well. You will suffer agony beyond comprehension. And after you have confessed your most mortal secrets, I might just cut off your legs at the knees and give you to Onessa's demon hounds. You see, they like their prey to be alive and screaming as they rip open your stomach and feast on your entrails."

Cassius threw Edwynn's head forward so hard it bounced against the hardwood floor.

"Put him with the other one. I'll give him a quarter-hour to consider my offer before I begin my work."

The blow to his head made Edwynn dizzy. Hands grabbed him and dragged him to another room in the house. After a moment he was thrown roughly to the floor, and simply lay there. Pain from his broken nose and exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he passed out.

The sounds of a nearby fireplace could be heard, and its warmth started to drive away the cold of his rain soaked garments. At length, the sharp pain of his nose gave way to a dull, consistent throbbing. Breathing through his mouth, Edwynn tried not to swallow. Every time he did, the action would send pain thru his face. The coppery taste of blood mixed with the slime of nasal drainage. The combination made him want to vomit. On top of all of this, he would sneeze every minute or so, sending his head spinning. He couldn't imagine being in a worse situation.

'But it's going to get worse', he thought. Much worse. Crassius would be back soon, and that would be the end. There was no way out. His only hope was for Mythril to rescue him. He remembered how she had described not wanting to face a small number of bandits at the house. Now that he was in the center of their stronghold, why in the Light's name would she help him now? No, there was no one coming to rescue him. The only person he could count on was…"

"Edwynn?"

The name was spoken as a harsh whisper. Edwynn opened his eyes. He faced a large roaring fireplace. Rolling onto his back, he saw a low wooden ceiling covering a room about the size of the Crownguard's dining hall. A series of tables and bookshelves occupied the room. A figure was standing near one of the tables with their back to him. At the figure's feet sat a large crimson hound. The dog was watching him hungrily. It's eyes never blinked.

"Edwynn." The whisper came again.

Edwynn turned and looked behind him. Sitting against the wall was Brogan. His school robes were soaked black with blood near the waist. Through a gash in the garment, Edwynn could see a hasty bandage was probably the only reason his schoolmate was alive. Brogan's hands were tied together in front of him. Blond hair was plastered to his head, and his face was pale. But his eyes shone brightly. Too brightly. They had a crazed, feverish look to them.

"It's nice to see a familiar face." Brogan smiled weakly. "Id hate to think I was going to die alone."

"Brogan, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I was at the manor when the Defias attacked. They kidnapped me when they grabbed Myrista." Brogan gestured towards the figure with the dog. "That's Onessa. She's the one who told them not to kill me. She said I might be useful to them."

"Why? Are they going to ransom you? Your foster family doesn't have any money."

"They… I… Edwynn." Brogan's face contorted. He looked like he was about to laugh and cry at the same time. The blond boy looked at his schoolmate and his bottom lip started to tremble. "Edwynn, I have a confession. I… I can get us out of here."

"Really?" Edwynn felt his eyes grow wide. It was too much to hope for.

"Yes. It's rather funny actually." He half-laughed and half coughed. As his torso shook, his face was wracked with pain. "You see, I could leave whenever I want to. Whenever I _choose_ to. That's the trick, see. The gimmick. I have to choose to live. But I was thinking that it would be better to die. But then what would happen to you and Myrista? Who would avenge the deaths of all those people tonight? But it's so tempting… It would be so easy… So much easier to slip away…" the blonde youth closed his eyes and his head sank back against the wall. His eyelids began to flutter like someone dreaming.

'He's mad' Edwynn thought. But the hope of escape, the promise of survival, it was too much.

"Brogan… Brogan!" The last whisper was too loud. Edwynn was certain the woman with the dog could hear him. But if she cared, she paid him no mind. Edwynn tried to shift himself closer to his friend.

"Wha…" Brogan practically jumped away. He blinked and looked around, confused. "I heard you… I… heard you." He looked at Edwynn, then across to the table and the woman.

"Edwynn, do you see that stack of books on the edge of the table?" Edwynn turned to face the table. Indeed, just to the left of the woman was a pile of books.

"See the second one from the top? The thick one with the green binding?" Edwynn nodded. "I need you to help me Ed. You have to get to that book."

Edwynn turned back to his friend, puzzled. Brogan's eyes still burned with their feverish glint. Brogan's gaze did not meet Edwynn's though. It seemed to bore thru the air to the book.

"Brogan, I don't understand…"

"The cover of that book has a bronze engraving. It looks like a hooded figure standing behind a sword thrust into the ground. There's a clasp holding the book closed. You have to get to that table. You have to open the book Edwynn. I can't move. I havn't been able to feel my legs for hours. But you… you can get to the table. Open the book Edwynn. Then… then I can get us out of here."

'This is insanity.' Edwynn thought to himself. But Brogan's voice was with certain. Filled with a kind of resigned sorrow.

"How am I supposed to get there?" Edwynn turned back to look at the table once more.

"She's seen to that." Brogan replied softly.

The woman by the table had not moved. Even her dog sat motionless as a statue. But before Edwynn could ask more questions loud footsteps sounded from the hall. Edwynn's heart sank. They were coming for him now. His time was up.

Three men entered. Crassius was not one of them. They were dressed in the dark leather of the bandits, but had pulled their masks down to reveal their faces. As they entered, two of them stopped at the door while one approached the lady.

"What is it?" the woman with the demon hound asked.

"Begging your pardon mame, but Master Padfoot has requested your presence at the gate. He told us to watch the prisoners while you went to see him."

"What?" The woman snapped. Her pet immediately stood and growled at the man. "How dare he? Has he forgotten that it is _he_ who is working for _us_?"

"I can't speak to that mame. I can only say that the three of us were ordered to stay here mame. To watch the prisoners."

"Three grow men to watch two half-dead children? No wonder your pathetic Defias can't get a foothold in Redridge." The woman muttered in disgust and moved towards the door. "Touch nothing while I am gone. Everything here is under a powerful curse against would-be thieves. It would be a shame if your hands withered and fell off before I got back." Without a single glance towards the prisoners, she left, followed by the dog.

The three men crowded near the door and watched as her footsteps vanished into the hallway. At length one of them spoke. "Do you think it's true about the curse?"

"Who cares?" One of the bandits practically ran to Edwynn. Grabbing him by his shoulder, he hauled the boy to his feet. A dagger seemed to appear from nowhere. Turning Edwynn around to face the fire, the man began cutting his bonds.

"What?" was all Edwynn could exclaim. After a couple of seconds his hands were cut loose. Then the stranger roughly turned him to face his jailer. Edwynn was about to thank him, until he saw the malice in his liberator's eyes.

"So you killed Wedge, eh?" This bandit was tall, with a face riddled with pox scars. "He was my best mate, and he never lost a knife fight. Never."

The boy's eyes scanned the others. The second bandit stood at the doorway, but he seemed more afraid of someone looking in rather than for the prisoners escaping. He shook with nervousness. The third bandit, the one who had talked to the woman, stood by the table. His eyes kept darting between the door and the pox-faced bandit. "Hurry up and kill him, Mic! Lets do it and get out of here!"

"Not so fast." The pox-faced man pulled a second, smaller knife from his belt. "It's gotta look like he was trying to escape, otherwise Crassius will torture us in his stead. Naw, this runt's gonna put up a fight, aint ya?" The bandit, Mic, backed up and casually tossed the new knife handle-first at Edwynn. Even after all he'd been through, the boy caught it with ease. Mic held his own dagger causally in his right hand.

"Wedge n I had a bet going, see. Who's the best knife fighter in Northshire? You killed him, so I guess I owe you for helping me win. Thief's honor, see? So here's your payback. I'm gonna spare you a slow dying. So what's it gonna be boy? You gonna die on your feet like a man, or wait for Crassius to get here n bleed ya.

Edwynn swallowed, tasting blood, mucus, and the agony of his broken nose. The pain was sharp. And it helped him focus. Mic had a point, in his strange way. It was better to die quickly to a dagger than a slow death by torture. The boy looked down at the knife in his hand. It was a rusty steak knife, barely four inches long and not even sharp. Mic's blade was a foot and a half of razor edged steel. It was no contest. He could never survive, even if he had all the luck in the world.

"_Men like us, we make our own luck._"

The thought came to Edwynn with a shudder. It was Jorik's voice, from just this afternoon. Something Jorik's father had told him. Edwynn's eye shifted to Brogan. The wounded student's eyes had never left the green book.

"Time's up, runt." Mic sneered.

"You're right." Edwynn whipped up his wrist and let the blade fly.

In a thousand throws, he had never hit the heart-shaped bullseye of Jorik's target dummy. The steak knife was unbalanced and too light. It would not penetrate then bandit's dark leather, nor had it been Edwynn's intention to. It had been meant simply to serve as a distraction. And a spectacular distraction it made, striking Mic squarly in the eye. It sunk in until struck bone.

The scream would have woken the dead. For three whole heartbeats Edwynn stood like a idiot thinking 'Light what have I done?' Mic dropped his dagger and grabbed his face. He wrenched the rusty utensil from his socket with a wet sucking noise. The blade clattered to the floor, slick with translucent gore.

The clang of the blade seemed to break everyone's trances. The man at the door ran to help Mic. The one by the table run towards Edwynn with his hands outstretched. The boy waited for him to get close, then ducked inside his grip and tried to spin away. The move surprised the bandit, who only managed to grab a handful of waterlogged tunic. The thin material tore, and Edwynn sprinted for the table.

Reaching the stack of books, Edwynn shoved the top one aside and grabbed the green tome. The book matched Brogan's description perfectly. It had two bronze clasps to hold it closed. The bottom one was already open. The top one was fastened by an odd looking silver mechanism. Edwynn's fingers fumbled for the latch, but before he could do anything a heavy weight crashed into him from behind. The man who had ripped his shirt wrapped his arms around the boy's chest and lifted him clean off of the floor. He threw Edwynn back down against the table. The force drove the wind from the boy's lungs and there was a metallic ringing noise. The silver part of the clasp came off in Edwynn's hand, and the book flew across the room to land in front of the fireplace.

It was open.

A blow to his kidneys paralysed Edwynn with pain. Multiple sets of hands grabbed him and pulled him up. One bandit took each of his arms together they held him upright and prone. Mic stood before him, half his face covered with blood from his maimed eye. He screamed incoherently and rammed his fist into Edwynn's gut.

"That was for Wedge." He landed a second punch. "And that was for my eye." Mic stood back and scanned the floor. "I'll slit your throat as soon as I get my…"

Mic's dagger was not there. It had been picked up by Brogan. The robed boy raised his bound hands in front of him. He held the dagger's handle in his left hand, and was squeezing the naked blade with his right. Blood trickled onto the floor from his self inflicted wound. His eyes were closed and his lips were moving. The sounds his mouth made could not be called words. Their language was alien and evil. It made Edwynn's hairs stand up just to hear them.

Brogan's eyes flashed open. His gaze swept the room.

"The pact is sworn! Release him! Flee for your lives!" The words seemed more a warning than a threat.

One of the bandits holding Edwynn's arm looked from Brogan to the book and back to Brogan. "It's the curse!"

"The hell it is." Mic scooped up the steak knife from the floor. "We knew there couldn't be witnesses. Just have to kill this one first, that's all."

Brogan shut his eyes and spoke a word. Instantly his skin blackened. His fingernails seemed to extend. He screamed and threw back his head, revealing a wolf like set of fangs. When he opened his eyes, they glowed red.

The two men holding Edwynn released him. The boy fell back and slid to rest against the table. One bandit fumbled for his weapon while the other one backed away along the table's edge. Mic stood dumbfounded, unsure of what his eye beheld.

The Brogan-creature spoke and this time it was Mic who screamed. The brigand dripped his weapon and clawed at his own chest. He tried to scream, but his lungs refused to cooperate. It felt as though he was being stabbed in the chest by some invisible assailant. As fell to his knees in agony, Brogan rose. He tore away the hasty bandages, and Edwynn saw that his friend's gaping stomach wound was regenerating. The enchanted black skin slowly closed to seal the gaping wound. The creature held up it's hands, still bound together by rope. It muttered in it's dark language, and the hemp coils began to decay. Right before their eyes the strands rotted and frayed, finally snapping apart. The bits that fell were dust by the time they landed on the floor.

The bandit closest to Edwynn finally drew his own dagger. Brogan's glowing eyes turned towards him, and he started chanting. Fire began to seep from his palms. It dripped between his fingers like water, but did not burn his skin. The flames grew and grew, as did the chanting. After a couple of seconds Brogan shouted the final words of the spell. He clenched his fists and the flames vanished, only to explode into existence on the bandit's chest. The man screamed as the magical inferno spread across his body. In seconds his whole person was consumed by fire. He ran towards the door and tripped over Mic's spasming form. The two men fell into a heap, and the flames devoured them both.

The last man cowered terrified in the corner. Brogan raised his hand and made a beckoning motion with his claw like fingers. A sickly green mist rose from his victim's skin. It poured off of him like hot wax, and spread through the air to the spell caster's hand. The creature seemed to drink it in, gaining strength from the flow. The bandit meanwhile, struggled against the evil magic, but to no avail. His skin grew ashen, and open sores appeared. His hair turned silver, than white. He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. When his corpse fell forward onto the ground, it looked like the body of a man 50 winters old.

At last the creature turned its smoldering gaze to Edwynn. It lowered its hands and seemed to regard him as a child would regard an insect. Its breathing was deep and strong.. All signs of the mortally wounded boy he had been moments ago were gone.

"It is done." The entity said in a voice that sounded like Brogan's but deeper, and seeming to come from across a great distance. "My fate is sealed. I have bound myself to the powers of the Twisting Neither. I am a warlock, now and forever. May the Light have mercy on my soul


	10. Wed to Darkness

Chapter 8 – Wed to Darkness

"Brogan... I..." Edwynn stammered. There were no words.

"Don't blame yourself Ed." The creature turned towards the fireplace. "I told you to open the book. I knew what would happen. I knew… what I would become."

The beast looked down at his hands. It looked at its black fingers and inch long claws. The creature's strength seemed to ebb. Its shoulders drooped and began to shudder. Then it threw back its head and howled. It was a cry of anguish, of a soul that had been lost.

"It's not fair!" The creature closed a fist and punched the mantelpiece. "I had not choice! Was I supposed to just die? Was I supposed to let them win? Let them slaughter everyone and escape unscathed with their prize? They would have killed me! They would have killed Edwynn! Light knows what they've already done to Myrista! I can't… Stop it!" The creature whirled and confronted the air in front of the fireplace. "Stop! Stop laughing at me! I hate you! I'll destroy you!"

Brogan grabbed the book and slammed it shut. He squeezed its covers together seeming to try to crush the pages themselves.

"Brogan… what are you doing?" Edwynn braced himself against the table, and began to stand up.

"It's the book Edwynn. It's all the book's fault. Everything! EVERYTHING! She's in there. She's the one whose fault this is." Opening the tome, he began tearing the pages out.

Edwynn looked around the room. The charred corpses of the bandits still smoldered. The door they hand entered through was the only exit. There were no windows or other escape routes. The screams of the men dying surly a alarmed anyone within earshot. Why were no more bandits coming? There had been plenty of time.

"Brogan…" Edwynn started to say. Was that even it's name? The black-skinned creature with glowing eyes. How much of his friend was still inside that thing. Crouching on the floor, the warlock was tearing page after page from the book.

"Brogan, I don't think we can stay here."

"This hurts her." Brogan slowly tore a page in half. "You don't like it when I do this, do you? No, I didn't think so. How about if I burn you, huh? I bet you'd hate that." Brogan cackled manically as he gathered up some of the torn pages and threw them into the fireplace.

"We can't stay here…" Edwynn looked back and forth from the doorway to the warlock. He wrestled with the urge to abandon Brogan and just flee, but something held him there. Part of it was fear that if he encountered more Defias, he would need Brogan's magic to escape alive. The other was a strange sense of responsibility. Part of him felt that Brogan would still be himself if not for the fact that Edwynn had opened the book.

Don't you get it Edwynn? There's nobody coming. She's seen to that. You see, there's a demon in book. She's trapped here. While the book was closed and sealed, her abilities were diminished. But now she's free to use her powers. Powers of corruption and manipulation. She tricks people into doing what she wants. That's how her magic works.

Those words struck a cord in Edwynn's mind. Something else Jorik had said that morning.

"_How do you do it Jorik?" Edwynn smiled._

"_What?" Jorik's eyes smiled back, but his face was firm._

"_Get people to give you what you want and have them be glad to do it?"_

"_It comes from watching people kid. You would know that if you had been paying attention to all the things I've been telling you…"_

"Brogan, stop. Stop!" Edwynn stumbled forward. It could have been the most foolish thing he had ever done. He grabbed Brogan's writs as the spellcaster was about to throw more pages into the fireplace. To his surprise, Brogan's transformation apparently did not give him any additional strength. They wrestled for a moment. "Look! Brogan, look at the fireplace!"

Smoldering red eyes turned towards the blaze. In the center of the firepit was a blackened pile of ash from the destroyed pages. Brogan watched as the ashes flowed together and formed a shape. Charred pages gave way to pale flesh. In seconds the ash was gone, and a hand and forearm remained. It was a woman's hand. The flesh was supple and fair, with long delicate fingers. At the end of each digit was a blood red fingernail at least an inch long and slightly curved.

"How… how did you know?"

"You said yourself that she's trapped in the book, and she has the power to manipulate people. She wants you to burn the pages."

"You're right." Brogan frowned at the fistful of torn pages in his hands. She set me up. She transformed me into this… thing, and she knew I would hate her for it. Hate her so much that the first thing I would do would be to destroy the book. And by doing so, release her from her prison. Well bitch, we'll have none of that!"

Brogan ran to the table and began to search it. After a couple of seconds he found what he was looking for: the silver mechanism that had held the book's clasp closed. Returning to the damaged tome, he rudely shoved the remaining torn pages between the covers and slammed the book shut. He then began to pull the clasp closed.

"Will that work?" Edwynn asked.

"I have no idea." Brogan struggled against the locking system. "This clasp is enchanted. While it was secured, I could only hear her in my sleep. She would talk to me in dreams. Now that it's open I can hear her talking like she's right next to me. Bah." Brogan released the book and covered his ears. "Ed, she's too distracting! I need your help!"

Edwynn knelt down and looked at the clasp. The silver mechanism was star shaped, and the bronze clasp had an obvious indentation in it. He took the star and moved to place it in it's place. As he did, he felt his stomach lurch. An unreasonable fear filled his body. Something was wrong. He must not seal the book. Something dreadful would happen if he did.

"Yes Edwynn!" Brogan screamed. "Do it! She's terrified! Don't stop!"

Gritting his teeth, the boy pressed the star into the clasp. He turned it, and a clicking noise could be heard. Instantly the fear and dread vanished. Edwynn felt himself gasp for breath.

"Oh thank the Light." Brogan slumped forward. "You did it. She's gone." The black lips smiled, and the warlock started laughing then. Real laughter. Human laughter. As Edwynn watched, the fangs retracted somewhat, and Brogan's fingernails seemed to shrink. But the shade of his skin did not change, nor did his eyes.

"Brogan, are you… gonna be okay?"

The laughter stooped and Brogan looked at his hands. Turning his left hand palm up, Edwynn could see that there was the wound from the dagger, still open and bleeding. The magical skin did not heal over.

"No. I'll never be okay. I've sworn the blood pact. I've traded my soul for power over flame and shadow. I think…" He looked up from his hand to lock Edwynn's gaze. His once blue eyes now glowed the burnt orange of dying coals.

"I think you should kill me."

"No way! I need you to help me get out of here alive."

They both turned to the doorway. If it had been the demon's magic that was keeping them from being discovered, Edwynn knew they would have to move quickly to escape. He stood up and took a quick assessment of his situation. He was in a bandit stronghold, probably in the foothills east of the manor. He was hurt, tired, and hungry, with his cloths torn. And he had no weapon.

The answer to the last problem turned out to be harder than he thought. Mic's long dagger lay in the corner where Brogan had dropped it. It's blade was still coated in the young man's blood. Maybe he was being superstitious, but he didn't want to touch it. The second bandit, the one who had burning to death his knife had landed under him. It now laid somewhere under the charred and smoking remains of his corpse. Edwynn did not think he had the intestinal fortitude to move the body without vomiting.

This left the final bandit's body. Edwynn walked over to his corpse. His shriveled grey skin and white hair remained as markers of how he died. Edwynn turned him over and pulled them man's knife from his belt. It was plain, short, and straight. The boy smiled in grim irony. Of all the weapons he had seen tonight, this one was the first that he actually liked. He quickly undid the dead bandit's belt and took the knife's sheath. The bandit also had a money pouch, so Edwynn took that too without bothering to count what was inside. As he finished, he noticed that the dead man's hardened boots were in much better condition than his own.

Brogan had found a satchel on the table. Into it he stuffed the green demon-tome, and anything else on the table that he thought might be useful. The gemstone that had been resting on the top shelf of the glass cabinet in Crownguard manor was among the items on the table. When it was reasonably full, the glowing eyed boy shouldered the bag. Then he looked down at his torn and blood soaked school robes. He shrugged his shoulders helplessly and turned to his friend.

"Lets go, we have to hurry."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Edwynn had finished pulling the boots off the corpse. They were too big, but better blisters than more frozen toes. He pulled them on and was hastily tying the laces when a voice cried out from the hallway.

"Gregor? Where in damnation are you?"

Edwynn slipped under the table and into the shadows. Brogan wheeled around looking for a place to hide, but it was too late. A bandit appeared at the door. His mask was on and his dagger already drawn before he even looked into the room. He saw Brogan and his eyes widened in surprise. He cried out and rushed into the room.

Brogan shouted out a word in the demon language. His enemy grunted in agony, but did not pause. The bandit closed the distance and slashed the warlock with his blade. Steel bit into enchanted skin and drew very real blood. The man slashed wildly, opening more gashes in Brogan's body. The cloth wearing caster tried raising his arms to protect himself, but to little effect. He had seconds to live.

Edwynn slipped out from under the table. Moving silently up behind the bandit, he found his target completely exposed. Without a sound Edwynn stabbed him directly in the back. Two inches of steel burst forward from the man's chest as the knife penetrated to the hilt. His victim gurgled and fell wordlessly to the floor.

"What happened to your magic?" Edwynn asked as he wrenched his knife free. Brogan said nothing. The warlock tore the rest of his robe off and used it to wrap his bleeding arms.

"Can't you heal yourself?"

Smoldering eyes shot him a vicious look. "Warlock magic is not like the magic of the Light. To heal myself, I must draw on the life force of others. I have to concentrate. I need to focus. It's a little hard to do while someone is cutting me to pieces!"

"Sorry…" Edwynn muttered. He looked down at the corpse of at his feet and it occurred to him that he had just killed this man. A distant voice in his mind told him that it was odd that he didn't feel remorse or sorry about what he had done. He man was obviously a murderer, and would have killed him if he had been given a chance. Turning around, Edwynn stepped to the doorway. Peaking around the edge, he saw several other doors, and at the end of the hallway was a large room. He saw a window there, and the blackness of night just beyond it.

"I see an exit." Edwynn said. "Let's get out of here."

"Not without Myrista." Brogan replied.

'_By the Light I'd totally forgotten her._' Edwynn thought to himself. "I don't suppose you saw where they took her?"

"Actually they said they were taking her to the cellar. The woman with the hounds had some questions for me, which is why I was dumped up here."

"Stay here a sec." Edwynn slipped out into the hallway and moved towards the larger room at the end. The bandit hideout appeared to be some lord's house that was converted for use by these scoundrels. The hallway brought him to the main foyer. It was the same room where Crasius had broken his nose. It was currently unoccupied. Several doors led to other wings of the house, and a main set of double-doors near the window seemed to lead outside.

'_I can slip away right now. It's the middle of the night out there. With luck and patience they'll never find me._' But even as he thought about leaving he found himself moving back towards Brogan. He didn't quite understand why, but it felt like the right thing to do. "This way" Edwynn gestured for the warlock to follow him in the opposite direction from the main entrance.

"How do you know it's this way?" Brogan asked as he moved up behind the rogue.

"Cellars are usually connected to kitchens, and kitchens are usually at the rear of large houses." Approaching the door at the end of the hall he pressed his ear against the wood. Gesturing to Brogan to be quiet, he listened for a slow count to ten. Hearing nothing, he turned the knob. Finding it unlocked, he slipped quickly inside.

The room was indeed a kitchen. Edwynn never imagined he would be so happy to see half a loaf of stale bread, or smelly Darnassian Bleu. He literally leapt across to the cheese and shoved the wedge whole into his mouth. Brogan entered more slowly, and made a face as Edwynn almost choked trying to swallow. Pulling the satchel from his shoulders, he grabbed a handful of nearby sausage links and stuffed them into the bag. "We can eat later." He remarked critically.

Edwynn's throat was so stuffed he couldn't answer. Reaching for a nearby wineskin, he took a long draught to wash the cheese down. It was filled with plain water, but he didn't care. Brogan took one look at this and swooped forward like a hawk. Black-skinned fingers snatched the skin from Edwynn's hands, and the warlock upended the container directly into his mouth. Amazingly, the caster didn't spill a drop.

Brogan lowered the empty skin and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't realize how thirsty I was."

"It's okay. You lost a lot of blood. I'm surprised you can even stand up." Edwynn gave his friend a crooked smile. It could have been his imagination, but the glow had diminished from Brogan's eyes, and he could almost see their original color.

His comment seemed to steal some of the levity from his friend's mood. "The demon magic makes my skin thicker, and it regrows faster." Pulling the bloody rags from his arms, Brogan revealed that the wounds he received minutes ago had completely scabbed over. "In an hour, these will be completely gone."

"Can you die?"

"Of course I can die." Brogan looked at him like it was the stupidest question in the world. "If you cut my head off or stop my heart. But I can recover from almost any wound, given enough time. At least, that's what she told me."

There was a sound from the corner of the kitchen. Both boys wheeled around. A heavy oak door was closed near the back of the room. Muffled voices could be heard, raised in argument. They grew louder, and the sounds of heavy feet ascending a staircase could be heard.

Edwynn glanced at the door's hinges. It opened into the kitchen. The rogue tapped Brogan on the shoulder and gestured for him to duck under the table. The warlock obeyed wordlessly. Edwynn drew his knife and dashed towards the door. Pressing himself against the stone wall nearest the hinges, he listened to the voices.

"…chain of command means he gets the girl first and you know that." The first voice said loudly. From the sounds of the footsteps, there were at least two men coming up.

"I don't care what Garrik says. A fine filly like that makes a man's blood boil. Now I'm tired of just look'n at her." The knob turned and the door opened, hiding Edwynn from view. The boy could not see who came up the steps, so he listened as the first set of boots sounded in the kitchen. He waited two full heartbeats, then acted.

Throwing all his weight against the heavy oak door, Edwynn rammed it closed just as the second man was stepping across the threshold. Whoever was about to walk through the door had it slammed in their face. Their hand was caught between the closing portal and the door frame, and Edwynn was certain he heard fingers breaking. Grabbing the doorknob, Edwynn opened the door just enough that the hand was no longer pinned, and whoever had been on the other side could be heard tumbling backwards down the stairs.

The first man through the door had been caught completely by surprise. He had his back to the cellar door, and when he turned around to hear the noise, he saw Edwynn for the first time. He was a bandit like the others, with black leather and a red bandana. He pulled out his own knife just as Edwynn pulled away from the door.

Brogan rose from under the table as the two combatants faced each other. He started chanting in the demonic tongue. Edwynn saw the bandit glance at the warlock, and remembered the last fight. Knowing he had to keep the brigand occupied until Brogan's magic was complete, Edwynn moved in and slashed with his knife. It was a sloppy swing, designed to distract. The bandit growled and focused all of his attention back on Edwynn.

Blades crossed in the air. It took all of his speed and cunning for Edwynn to match the bandit's moves. Eventually the boy's luck ran out, and his enemy opened a long gash in Edwynn's arm. After that, the enemy moved in with a quick jab and suddenly locked up the dark haired boy's weapon with his own.

"Gotcha now!" The bandit grunted and smiled. As he did, blood started to trickle down his nose. Edwynn managed to twist his knife free and tried to back away across the kitchen. The bandit moved to follow. Both nostrils were bleeding now. The man didn't seem to notice at first. He was too intent on the wounded rogue. But as he absent-mindedly wiped his hand across his lips, he stopped suddenly. Looking down at his bloodstained glove, he coughed. His spittle was red. He glanced up at Edwynn, then across the table to Brogan. More blood began so seep from his ears.

"You did this?" he asked stupidly.

Brogan was already casting another spell. He was holding his hands aloft, canting words of magic. Streams of darkness coiled around his fingers like sentient smoke. They coalesced on palms into what looked like black thunderclouds laced with green lightning. The bandit charged him, but it was too late. The bolt of shadow leapt from Brogan's hand and struck his foe directly in the torso. The man made no noise. He just grabbed his chest and plummeted face first to the ground.

'_Light be merciful._' Edwynn thought to himself. Shaking his head violently, he forced himself to focus on the dangers at hand. Cradling his wounded arm to his chest, the boy stepped around the body and moved back to his original hiding spot next to the door.

"That'll never work twice." Brogan said.

"Actually it would, only because it's the last thing they'd expect."

Edwynn stood his ground. Brogan steeped back as far as possible in the kitchen and held his hands up, ready to cast another spell.

They stood like that for almost half a minute, but no one came up the stairs. Brogan's nervous glances towards the main hall reminded Edwynn that they were probably already out of time. Finally Edwynn grabbed the door handle and swung open the entrance to the cellar.

Wooden stairs descended into darkness. Edwynn looked down, letting his eyes adjust. The entire time he waited to hear the crossbow bolt or thrown knife that would end his days. No noise came.

Moving as quietly as possible, the rogue descended the rickety wooden stairs. Near the bottom he found the body of the man he had slammed the door on. He had landed on his neck, which had shattered under the stress. He was dead. Dropping down the rest of the staircase, Edwynn turned to scan for more bandits. He didn't see any, but he did find a something far more important.

Any human boy over the age of nine has had a fantasy about rescuing a princess. Some nobleman's daughter, kidnapped by ruffians or an orcish warchief. She was usually held in a high tower where the hero would dash in, slaughtering foes left and right. And at the end, the beautiful damsel would waiting tied to a wall. As he freed her, she would reward her hero with a kiss and they would ride off into the sunset together.

Edwynn found that the detail in reality somehow stole a great deal of the romance.

Firstly, there had only been the two guards. They were now both dead, so there would be no dashing sword fight to impress the young lady. Secondly, the cellar was dank and nasty. A single sputtering lantern weakly lit the natural earth walls. Myrista was chained to a support pillar by both wrists and her neck. She was wearing her fancy blue dinner dress, and it was torn, rainsoaked, and filthy. The top of her face was covered in an elaborate black leather mask and a gag. Far from the fairy tale image of beauty, she lay against the pillar, shivering and miserable.

Edwynn dashed to her side and began working to release her. The instant he touched her she started screaming. The gag muffled her cries, but they were still more than loud enough to be heard upstairs.

. Brogan ran back up to close the door before more bandits heard the sound and came to investigate. "Quiet! Myrista you have to be quiet!" Edwynn tried whispering to her to calm her down, but if she heard him at all, she wasn't paying attention. She kicked out blindly and managed to strike him directly in the shin. It probably hurt her more than him. The pain, as well as her struggling, was really staring to piss Edwynn off. Whatever the leather headpiece was that the bandits put on her, it was making it so that she couldn't hear anything Edwynn was saying to calm her down.

Frustration and pain drove Edwynn to more direct action. Sternly grabbing the top of her head, the rogue twisted her hard and began pulling at the knot that held her gag in place. She stopped resisting then. Finishing that, he pulled her gag off and began removing her headpiece.

"Thank you, stranger." She said softly as she stretched her stiffened jaw. Something about the way she said it set Edwynn on edge.

"It's me." He finished unlacing the elaborate black leather headpiece. "It's…"

Myrista spoke a word and pain exploded within Edwynn's mind. He cried out and fell backwards. It felt as if somehow a burning ember was being pressed right behind his eyes. He screamed, grabbed his face, and began writing on the floor.

"That will teach you to imprison a priestess of the Light, you sick bastard." Myrista thrashed her head against the pillar, throwing off the leather harness. "I swear if you touch me I'll… Edwynn!"

Immediately the pain vanished like it had never existed. Edwynn gasped for air and sat up on the dirty floor.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, her voice choking.

"Rescuing you, of course." Edwynn blinked, still recovering from the pain.

"By the Light, you… you came for me. You…" She started sobbing uncontrollably.

'_So like a girl._' Edwynn gritted his teeth and stood up. His nose hurt, his arm was bleeding, and his whole body ached. He was about to lay into her about the amount of noise her carrying on was making, but a soft cough behind him caught his attention. Brogan was standing in the shadows at the base of the stairs, near the body. He tossed something metal to Edwynn. It was a key, presumably for the prisoner's chains.

Edwynn came forward and began to remove her bonds. The whole time Myrista was crying and babbling about her ordeal. Edwynn only half listened to her stories about being chained up, poked, kicked, and sworn at. Somehow they had known that she was a priestess, and had gagged her straight away back at the manor, to stop her magic. Her guards had made great fun threatening her, but apparently as yet she had not been seriously harmed.

Edwynn removed the last of her shackles. As soon as she was free Myrista threw her arms around his chest, crushing herself against him. "Thank the Light you came. Oh thank the Light. I thought I was doomed. I thought…"

"It's okay Myrista… Look… You're fine now… Stop it." Edwynn tried to disentangle himself from her.

"We gotta go!" Brogan's voice carried a great deal of impatience, and something else too. Myrista jumped at his voice, noticing for the first time that they were not alone.

"Brogan? Edwynn rescued you too? Bless the Light I thought you were dead!"

The warlock said nothing. The lantern light was poor, and his black skin made him difficult to see. He turned quickly and moved up the stairs before Myrista could get a good look at him.

"Come on!" Edwynn began to half-drag the priestess out of the cellar.

"Wait… you're hurt." Myrista pulled him to a stop. Holding her hands over his bleeding arm, she began chanting. A soft yellow glow emanated from her palms, throwing the shadows on her face into sharp relief. The glow flowed into Edwynn's arm and upwards into his chest. The pain and exhaustion of the day began to withdraw. He felt renewed, both in body and mind. His nose stopped hurting and his nasal passage cleared up. Taking a deep breath, he flexed the fingers on his wounded arm.

"Feel better?" Myrista asked with a big smile. She was looking directly into his eyes, and standing awfully close to him.

"You bet! Now lets go." Turning quickly, he stepped over the guard's corpse and ascended the stairs. He was almost to the top when he realized she wasn't following him. "Myrista are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She said in that tone of voice that women use when they were certainly NOT fine. "I just can't see well." She began to slowly move up the stairs.

In the kitchen, Edwynn found Brogan stuffing more food into the bag. The warlock then grabbed two other wineskins and shouldered the knapsack before moving towards the foyer.

"Brogan, wait." Edwynn said in a loud whisper. Myrista reached the kitchen and gave a sharp gasp as she saw the corpse of the man who had died there. His nose and mouth still trickling blood. Edwynn grabbed her hand and dragged her into the hallway. Brogan had stopped just inside the foyer. He silently stood there with his back to them.

"Brogan, slow down! We have to stay together or we'll…" Edwynn didn't bother to finish the sentence.

Standing in the foyer were 6 figures. Four of them were bandits, lead by Crassius. The warrior had his sword drawn and an evil sneer on his face. The last figure was Odessa, who was kneeling next to one of her demon hounds. Every one of them was staring directly at the three children.

"It appears that you make a poor prisoner, stable boy." Crassius gestured to the bandits.

"Kill them all."


	11. Shadow and Flame

Chapter 11 – Shadow and Flame

"Hold" Onessa threw up her hand. The bandits all looked at her with fear, but none moved. The woman's eyes seemed to drink in the sight of Brogan's black skin and smoldering eyes. Edwynn and Myrista stepped up next to him. Myrista had up until now not seen Brogan's transformation. She let out a sharp gasp and covered her mouth.

"What happened to you?" Myrista whispered.

"It would seem," the woman began. "That Balba'yorn has chosen an Avatar. Tell me young man, what is your name?"

Brogan said nothing. He dropped the two wineskins he had carried from the kitchen.

"Oh come now…" she continued. "Lets be civil. After all, it's not every day we get to meet the person who will destroy the world. Perhaps you can tell me, why you didn't reveal yourself at the manor we attacked earlier? You could have killed my men and saved the lives of all those innocent people."

"What's she talking about Brogan?" Myrista asked. The warlock turned to look at her and she saw his burning eyes for the first time. The girl stifled a cry and backed away in horror.

"Brogan? That's a good name." Onessa took a step closer. "A strong name, and powerful. It will sound good when spoken from the lips of your zealots. You'll need a title, of course. Something befitting the great deeds you will soon perform. Brogan the bridge-builder. Or maybe Brogan the destroyer. Tell me, how much of the codex have you absorbed? You've killed at least twenty of our men tonight. Your powers must be considerable indeed."

Brogan and Edwynn glanced at each other in confusion. Twenty dead? Edwynn did a mental count and came up with six. He remembered earlier when Brogan had said that it was the demon's magic that was the reason no one was entering the room where the transformation had happened. Had the demon in the book killed fourteen men? Onessa obviously didn't know that they had sealed the book. Maybe they could escape if they used this to their advantage.

"He is powerful!" Edwynn cried, trying to sound authoritative. "He is all powerful. He can command the shadows and the flame. Let us pass and he may spare your lives!"

Edwynn's threat seemed to frighten the bandits, but not their leaders. Onessa chuckled and Crassius favored him with a cruel smile.

"All powerful?" I doubt that." Onessa said, turning her attention back to Brogan. "Your pet here is rather charming. Perhaps we'll keep him alive. For entertainment. But his lying tongue will most certainly have to be cut out."

Edwynn tried again. "You have no idea of his true powers! That's why you're fishing about with your stupid questions."

"I know a great deal more than you do, peasant!" Onessa spat. "You men, kill the whelp and the girl! Crassius and I will handle the Fel-Sworn." The sorceress readied herself for combat. Her hound growled and barred its teeth. Crassius raised his sword in a defensive stance. The bandits fanned out to surround them.

"You're forgetting something Onessa." This time it was Brogan who spoke. He shifted his sholders and the knapsack slid down his arms to rest in his hand. "Can you guess who I have in this bag?"

Onessa's face became a mask of uncertainty. "The book…" she softly whispered.

"You didn't think we would escape and leave your treasure behind did you?" Brogan held the knapsack in his left hand. In his right, magical fire appeared. He moved his right hand underneath the knapsack and the flames began to lick the leather.

"Stop!" Onessa screamed terrified. "You must not damage the book!"

"Indeed" Brogan was actually smirking. "We wouldn't want to hurt your prize would we?"

Edwynn was petrified with astonishment. Was Brogan crazy? Had he somehow forgotten that burning the book would release the demon? Maybe the seal had somehow come loose. He had to do something.

Brogan didn't give him the chance. "I will give you the book, unharmed. But in return, you must let Myrista go."

"Done." Onessa gestured to one of her bandits. "Get it…"

"Myrista?" Edwynn gasped. "Brogan what about…"

Brogan wasn't listening. The single bandit who Onessa sent forth paused just out of reach, one hand outstretched for the book. The warlock closed his extinguished the mystic flame and reached into the bag. Sausage links spilled to the ground as Brogan pulled a large, thick book from the satchel. Brogan gave the maroon book in his hand to the man.

"Look out!"

Edwynn leapt forward just as the bandit slashed out with a knife hidden in his off hand. Brogan dodged backwards and was rewarded with a slit throat instead of a decapitation. But the move left the bandit overextended. As Brogan fell, Edwynn charged in with his knife. His blade sank deep into the dark leather and the man screamed.

"Attack!" Crassius roared.

The wounded bandit fell away, the red book clutched tightly in his hand. But his three associates closed in. Edwynn heard Brogan gurgling and the relief that his friend was not dead was the last emotion he felt before the raw panic of combat. His vision was filled with stabbing blades. He parried one attack only to expose himself to another. Pain lanced up his arms and chest as the bandits casually toyed with him. But as fast as the cuts appeared, they vanished like they had never happened.

"Idiots! Kill the healer!" Crassius screamed. Too intelligent to crowd 3 men trying to kill one, he pointed at Myrista and Edwynn dared a glance in her direction. She stood at the mouth of the hallway, her hands shining as she summoned the Light. She cast the spell and Edwynn felt his strength return, even as the girl slumped back against the wall. She was exhausted to the verge of collapse.

Edwynn screamed and charged madly at the closest enemy. The move took the man completely by surprise and Edwynn's blade slashed laterally down his chest. Black leather and skin both split wide open. The wound was shallow, but painful. The man backed away in fear.

Of the two bandits remaining, one had a sword while the other wielded a four foot long metal rod. That one charged in with a full-bodied swing. Unable to escape, Edwynn reached forward and caught the attack with his hands. The masked man roared and pushed Edwynn against the wall, pining him there. He then pressed hard against the shaft with both hands. The rod pressed into the rogue's chest, driving the breath from his lungs.

Meanwhile the last bandit ignored Edwynn completely and rushed at the helpless priestess. He drew back his sword for a thrust that would puncture her heart. As his attack closed in, Myrista screamed and threw up her hands. A glowing shell of light enveloped her and the blade struck it and was turned away. Twice more the bandit hacked at her, and the glowing shell cracked, and then shattered like crystal. The shards vanished as they hit the ground, making no sound at all.

"Please…" Myrista's exhausted form collapsed to the floor, sobbing. "I beg of you… mercy."

The bandit raised his sword high to finish her off, but instead he screamed as a blast of shadow struck his back. Falling to his knees, he turned to where Brogan was regaining his feet. The warlock's neck was bleeding, but the enchanted skin was already closing over the wound. Brogan began shouting in his demonic tongue. The bandit dropped his sword and howled in pain as his entire body began to rot and decompose. Leather armor frayed, split, and fell to dust. Flesh grayed and melted. In the span of three heartbeats a pile of festering meat collapsed to the ground, completely unidentifiable as having ever been human.

"Enough of this!" Onessa spoke a curse and Myrista screamed in agony. Brogan turned to face the witch and held out his palms. Once again fire began to flow across his hands. Onessa confidently uttered a different curse. Brogan's tounge seemed to swell in his mouth and the demonic incantations failed him. The fire in his hands faltered.

"Not so easy to do magic when you cannot speak?" Onessa cackled. A cry of pain from Edwynn's direction brought her attention back to the rogue. He was scrambling to keep from being crushed by the bandit's rod. So far he was just barely holding his own.

"I am afraid it's time for your pet to die." Onessa gestured and spoke a word. Suddenly all of Edwynn's strength left him. His arms seemed like leaden weights. The bandit sneered and pressed forward and Edwynn was certain he felt his ribs about to crack. He screamed in pain and was answered by Crassius's laughter.

The shaft was pinned against his lungs and he couldn't breath. Darkness began to close in and he saw spots. His mind began to wander. Suddenly his concousness was outside, among the wind and the trees. His fingers were acutely aware of the texture of the iron shaft. He could smell the bandit's fetid breath. Hear Onessa's overconfident chuckle, and her dog's breathing.

A familiar sense of euphoria washed over him.

In a wave his strength returned. More than returned, it was enhanced. Overflowing. With a cry he shoved hard against he rod and threw back the bandit. The man fell backwards and slammed into the floor.

"What? My curse has been lifted! How…"

A thunderous roar shattered the air. The hideout's double-doors exploded inwards and eight hundred pounds of teeth and fur charged through the doorway. A bear, impossibly huge, smashed into Crassius's back. Shredding apart his cloak and tunic, the monster's three inch long claws tore through the warrior's chain mail like it was paper. The creature looked up at Edwynn and bright, intelligent eyes met his own. The beast roared again shaking its head from side to side, flopping its massive triangular ears.

"Mythril?" Edwynn gasped.

With a howl, Onessa's demon dog leapt onto the druid's back. The bear reared up on its hind legs and swatted at the crimson menace. Tufts of fur and red skin flew. But the dog had bought Crassius time to recover, and Onessa was already casting another spell.

A guttural war cry brought Edwynn back to his own danger. The bandit with the rod swung his weapon and almost crushed the rogue's head. The rogue dived and recovered his knife, but his attacker was too fast to allow an opening. The two circled one another, each looking for a weakness. Then the bandit feigned an attack on the left, but quickly reversed to the right. Edwynn twisted forward inside the swing, and the bandit's attack crushed the boy's leg just as Edwynn's dagger found the man's heart.

The pain was almost unbearable and the rogue almost bit his tongue trying not to scream. Looking down, he saw his leg bending in two places, as though he had an extra knee. He blinked away unbidden tears and looked to his friends for help.

Myrista was lying in a corner, unmoving. Brogan, unable to use his magic, had run forward and was wrestling hand to hand with Onessa. Mythril and Crassius were circling each other. The warrior held his blade high over his head with both hands. The bear's coat was bleeding and scorched in several places. Behind the bear, the red demon was dead on the ground. The two bandits who had survived were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully they had fled.

Biting back the tears, Edwynn tried to stand. His right leg was a useless weight, and he couldn't move it at all. As he stood, pain flooded through him and he screamed. Mythril glanced in his direction, and Crassius took the opening. His powerful sword descended and cleaved into the bear's shoulder. The beast roared and backed away from his assault. Crassius pressed his advantage. Swings and thrusts pushed the wounded druid back into a corner. With nowhere for her to retreat, the warrior moved in for the kill.

"Hey Crassius!" Edwynn yelled. "Catch!"

Edwynn threw his knife. As lucky as his throw against Mic had been, this throw was equally unlucky. His knife went high and left, but Crassius had heard him yell, and was expecting an attack. By reflex, the warrior turned and swept his blade out, knocking away the knife that would never have struck him anyway.

It was just the opportunity Mythril needed.

Charging forward, the bear slammed into the warrior and bore him to the ground. Opening her jaws wide, she swallowed his head whole and bit down. Crassius's body jerked once and his sword clattered to the floor from lifeless fingers.

An inhuman shriek erupted from Onessa. Seeing her partner dead, she opened her mouth and cried out evil words. As she incanted, all the air in the room seemed to rush towards her. Brogan tried to stop her, but it was too late. There was a split second of silence and then she threw back her head and screamed. The air itself seemed to explode. The flames jetted away from her body in very direction, setting the room ablaze. Edwynn threw up his hand to shield his face from the heat. Incredibly, in the center of the inferno, he could still make out the struggling forms of Brogan and Onessa. Their bodies became indistinct shimmers before he could turn his head away.

A massive shape moved between the rogue and the hellfire. Tongues of flame curled around the bear and she hovered protectively over Edwynn. The heat and the noise pressed down on the boy, and then seemed to retract somewhat. The bear's body vanished, replaced with night elf feminine form.

"Mythril!" Edwynn had to yell to be heard over the roaring flames. "Thank the light you're here! I thought you'd abandoned us!"

"Where's the book?" She screamed.

"What? I thought you were here to rescue…"

"The Book!" Mythril shook him hard, and then turned to look back behind her. The entire room was on fire. Curtains and furniture alike were being consumed. Above their heads the ceiling groaned.

"It's in the bag!" Edwynn pointed to the far side of the room. Brogan's knapsack lay next to Myrista's unmoving body. Before Edwynn could say anything else, Mythril leapt towards the bag. In the blink of an eye her elvish form was replaced by that of a cat. It was yellow and spotted, unlike anything Edwynn had seen in his life. She moved so fast that he almost couldn't follow her with his eyes. Snatching the bag up with her mouth, she raced directly to the closest window and leapt out into the night.

"That bitch!" Edwynn gasped, drawing a lungful of smoke. Coughing bitterly, he began to crawl towards Myrista's body. The fire was everywhere now, and he could hear the groans of the ceiling about to collapse.

Monsterous teeth grabbed the back of his tunic and his hair. Edwynn cried out in pain and fear as he was lifted up by something enormous. His leg exploded in pain and he spasmed and screamed uncontrollably. Suddenly the heat vanished and the air was cold and smoke free. The teeth released him and he fell roughly to the ground.

Blinking and coughing, Edwynn rolled onto his side and wiped the tears from his eyes.

He was outside the bandit's hideout. For the second time that night Edwynn watched as an enormous house began to burn to the ground. He was about twenty feet away from the blaze, under a tree. To his left was Brogan's knapsack, singed by otherwise undamaged. To his right, the enormous bear with elven ears was watching the building intently.

"Myrista…" Edwynn coughed and tried to rise.

"She's dead." The bear was gone, the night elf standing in it's place. "The witch's curse killed her before I entered the fray. Perhaps if I had gotten here sooner…"

As if on cue, a figure appeared at the doorway. Mythril did not seem surprised by this. She half crouched and prepared to do…something.

She was however surprised by the identity of the person emerging from the blaze. It was Brogan. He stumbled forward, clutching Myrista's body to his chest. He was naked as the day he was born, his cloths having been destroyed by the blaze. Myrista was lifeless in his arms, her own clothing and hair on fire.

Mythril swore some unknown elvish curse and ran towards them. Brogan had walked maybe ten feet from the building when the night elf swept Myrista from his arms. His burden lifted, Brogan fell to his knees, coughing and wheezing. Smoke rose from where his skin was actually smoldering.

The girl's corpse looked like a child in the enormous druid's arms. Mythril ran back to the base of the tree and dumped the body unceremoniously on the ground. With a single motion she ripped her own vest off and wrapped it around her hands. She then stamped out the girl's burning hair and dress.

"What are you doing? She's gone." Edwynn gagged. The stench was awful.

"Shan'dre! Silence!" Mythril reached inside her shirt and ripped off a leather thong necklace. The medallion at the end was grey, and shaped like an acorn. She held it in her palm and placed her hand on Myrista's chest.

"Back away!" Mythril shouted sharply.

"But…"

"NOW!"

Edwynn fell away from the tree. He crawled away on his hands and his good leg, gritting his teeth and only getting about five feet before the pain overcame him.

Mythril closed her eyes and pushed the acorn down into the dead girl's chest. She said something and a peal of thunder sounded nearby. Lit by the firelight, Edwynn could see the grass around the girl's corpse wither and turn brown. The effect spread outwards from her body, turning green spring growth into drought-ridden brush that looked like it hadn't seen raid in months. The tree that had been sheltering them made a deep groan, and all of its leaves turned the shades of autumn. The circle continued to expand until it reached the end of Brogan's feet. His foot began to tingle, like he had been sleeping on it. He scrambled away, but a noise caught his attention.

Myrista suddenly gasped for breath.

Mythril lifted her hand away. Where the acorn had been, now only grey dust remained. A gentle breeze blew the powder from her hand. The druid looked at her empty palm and down at the devastation around her. The grass, the tree, indeed everything for seven paces, was dying or dead.

"Cenarius mark my words, child. You had better be worth this."

With an earthshaking crash, the bandit hideout collapsed to the ground. Flaming debris flew everywhere, and Brogan's kneeling form was barely missed by a section of the wall. The warlock slowly regained his feet and stumbled away from the ruin.

Standing quickly, Mythril grabbed the knapsack. "Get up. We need to move quickly."

"But they're all dead…" Edwynn groaned.

Mythril looked up into the sky. "I think not."

Above them, eclipsing the moon, hung a low flat shape. At first Edwynn thought it was a cloud, but the fire below lit showed that it was a wooden ship. A sailing vessel tied with ropes to a gaudily painted gasbag.

"A goblin airship." Mythril muttered. "And they've seen us."


	12. Consequences

Chapter 12 – Consequences

Edwynn woke with a start. Cold earth and grass poked his bare skin. He was incredibly hungry, and his right leg ached. It was dark, almost pitch black. He was outside somewhere. Dark dreams faded from his mind. Dreams of fire and death. Of burning eyes and masked men. A purple elf-woman, with a cat's head and bear fur for skin. It was all so vivid.

Someone stirred next to him and Edwynn jumped. In the dim light he could make out Myrista's sleeping shape. '_What the heck is she doing here? What the heck am I doing here?_' He moved to shake her awake.

"I wouldn't…" came a familiar voice from the darkness.

Edwynn turned his head too fast and dizziness overwhelmed him. Closing his eyes, he put his hand to his forehead until the world stopped spinning. When things settled down, he cautiously opened his eyes, afraid of what he would see.

His worst fears were realized.

Brogan sat about six feet away, his back to an oddly shaped rock. Edwynn could see him wearing a brown cloak and oversized pants with no shoes. His black skin was difficult to discern, but the coal-red glow of his eyes marked his location. Looking down at himself, Edwynn saw that the tunic he wore was torn and splattered with blood. Some of it was his own, some of it was not.

"It… wasn't a dream?" He muttered.

"No." Brogan's voice was filled with a deep anger.

Edwynn looked around. They were surrounded on all sides by unremarkable trees. "Where are we?"

Brogan looked confused for a moment. "Oh yeah, you passed out. We're probably a little more than halfway between the abbey and Goldshire. We've been on the run for about two hours, maybe three. Myrista couldn't take the pace, so Mythril dumped us here and said she'd be back. That was a long time ago."

"Oh…" Edwynn shivered and unconsciously moved closer to Myrista for warmth. The rogue looked at the warlock enviously. "Where'd you get the cloak?"

"Same place I got the pants: off one of the dead Difias. Mythril killed about a dozen of them while you and I were rescuing Myrista from the cellar. Remember when Onessa said I had killed twenty people? That was because Mythril was moving around taking out the bandits one at a time. I just wish we'd had time to loot some shoes. My toes are freezing.

Somehow the idea of a man who could melt people, or throw balls of shadowy death, having cold toes entertained Edwynn. The rouge chuckled a little "Why not just start a fire?"

"Mythril said it was too dangerous. Mythril said a fire would give away our location. She said… You know what? She's a real bitch if you ask me."

"Hey!" Edwynn gave Brogan a hard look. "She saved our lives! We'd be dead now if nor for her!"

"Exactly. Instead we're here, half naked in the woods."

"Well why don't you just go home? Your house can't be more than two miles…"

"LOOK AT ME!" Brogan's eyes flared hot white. "Do you think I can go home? You think I can face my family like this? Didn't you see the way she looked at me? That's how they'll ALL look at me! I can't go back. I can NEVER go back. What do you think is going to happen when we get to Goldshire, huh? I'll just walk into the inn and ask for a room? You guys get to rent a room, but one look at me and the guards will come running!"

"Lower your voice." Mythril's tall form melted out from the darkness. Her white starlight eyes made a sharp contrast from Brogan's smoldering maroon. The warlock said nothing, seeming to withdraw into his cloak. The elf squatted down and gave him a curious look. Her ears wiggled and Edwynn wondered if she was sad, or perhaps filled with pity.

"What is your name?"

"You know my name. Its Brogan." He said bitterly.

"Humans have surnames, do you not? You have a family?"

Edwynn was about to answer with the name of Brogan's foster family, but the warlock cut him off.

"Brogan Maguskhaer. Of the Dalaran Maguskhaers."

"Indeed." Mythril seemed unimpressed. "Very well, Brogan Maguskhaer. You should know that your situation is not unique. Among my people there are many who have been touched by the Legion's corruption. They are marked with deformations, such as claws and horns. Their faces are cruel, and their feet have become as the hooves of the woodland creatures. My people have cast them out of our villages and our forests, for they do little good, and can cause immeasurable harm. We true elves pity the satyrs, and we see killing them as a mercy. I am certain that your own people will view you in much the same fashion.

Edwynn shivered despite himself. Brogan looked down and plucked absent mindedly at the grass.

"So you're saying I'm doomed then." He said after a long pause.

"Of course you are doomed, you are a human." Mythril made another odd face. Like she was watching a child discovering a simple truth. "The circumstances of your fates may vary, but no force in the universe can prevent the inevitable. Trust me boy, as someone who was once immortal, I know."

Mythril rose suddenly, her ears twitching. She stared into the darkness between the trees for several seconds. "We have tarried too long. We should go."

"There's no point in going on. Leave me. Or better yet, kill me now."

"As you wish." Mythril opened her palm and evil green glow filled it. She raised her hand to the young warlock. Brogan gasped and stood up quickly.

"You wouldn't…"

"You asked me to." Mythril's voice sounded annoyed.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Oh?" The glow did not fade from the elf's hand.

"I… It was… I was just… you know…"

"Brooding? Feeling sorry for yourself? Hear my words Brogan Maguskhaer, and take them into your heart: This world had little room for fools who cannot abide by their own choices. You may have sworn the blood pact, but you are human. The masters of the Burning Legion will always see you as a tool. They are Demons, child and demons feed on despair. They will drink your self pity, and grow strong by it. They will use you, and once your use has ended, you will be discarded."

Brogan sneered. "It's not fair!"

"You are absolutely correct. In life we each have a path we must walk. You have chosen your path. Now you must walk it. The difficulties that have been set before you are there because of the decisions you have made."

"You think I wanted this? To look like this? To have this… affliction? It wasn't my fault! The choice was this or death!"

"A choice which remains before you. Death will certainly be easier. It still can be. But the choice is yours to make and we do not have time for your indecision." Mythril turned to Edwynn. "Wake her up. We are leaving." And without another word she turned her back on the children and marched into the woods.

They broke camp in a somber silence. Myrista barely said a word. She seemed, like Edwynn had, to assume the night's events were some horrible dream, and that she would awaken back in reality at any second. Edwynn simply took her hand and led her through the woods, and she followed like an obedient pet.

For his part, Brogan seemed to dwell on what the night elf said. He stopped complaining, and quietly passed out the last of the sausages. The links were small and uncooked, but Edwynn was starving. Myrista nibbled on hers, then passed it to Edwynn, who ate that one too. Brogan ate his slowly. By this time Mythril had reappeared to tell them that she had found a deer trail leading south. She informed them that they were to follow her through the woods.

The next several hours were a blur for Edwynn. Myrista was too cold and distracted to cast anything more than the most simple of healing spells. She tried to mend Edwynn's leg as best she could, but it was still very painful to walk on. The rogue asked Mythril to heal it, but she refused. She said that she needed all of her mystic energy in case they ran into any more trouble. But since the leg was good enough to walk on, she refused to transform back into a bear and carry him.

The forest between Goldshire and the abbey seemed endless. Mythril walked ahead of them and had no trouble moving in the near darkness. The storm clouds from earlier had moved away to the east, revealing a nearly full moon. This provided just enough light to see, but not nearly enough to avoid stumbling through the bush with enough noise to wake the dead. The druid began the journey by constantly reminding them to be quiet. After a while it seemed that she assumed this was impossible. They were, however, forbidden to talk to each other.

Edwynn's mind began to go over the events of his incredible evening. Looking back, some of the things he had done seemed rather amazing, possibly even heroic. He especially liked how he had hit a bandit square in the eye from five, no seven, paces away. The young man fantasized that one day they would tell stories about him around the firesides, the way they told stories about Myrista's uncle Mallius. Sadly, he knew it wouldn't happen, because in stories of heroes, you never heard about them fleeing shoeless through the woods away from an unseen enemy.

Before long, the scent of burning cedar wood caught the boy's nose. Soon after that, they broke through the brush to the edge of a small farm. The soil was newly tilled, and crops would soon be planted. The cedar scented smoke came from the chimney of a nearby homestead. No light could be seen from its' windows.

"That's the Mathers farm." Myrista offered quietly. "We're on the northeast side of town. The inn is that way." She pointed towards a small cluster of buildings.

"I don't suppose you have any money" Brogan asked.

Myrista shook her head. Edwynn remembered the bag he looted from one of his opponents back at the hideout. He upended the contents into his palm.

"Fifteen coppers. I suppose I could buy a glass of goat's milk."

Myrista turned to Mythril. "Surely you…"

"I carry no currency of value in human lands. I do have some herbs of note, but I doubt very much if they would be of value to anyone in a hamlet of this size."

Brogan removed his knapsack and began to rummage through it. "We've got one sausage left, a couple of old books, and this…" He pulled out something that caught the moonlight and held it.

"The star ruby!" Myrista cried out. "Where did you find it?"

"It was on the table in Onessa's study. I just shoved it into the knapsack without thinking. I bet it'll fetch more than just room and board for the night."

"No!" Myrista snatched the gem from Brogan and cradeled it to her chest. "Don't you see? This is all I have left. My home, my family, it's all gone. Burned. All but this…" The edges of her eyes began to shimmer with wetness.

Edwynn watched her with a pang of guilt. He was never especially attached to his aunt and uncle, and had always been dreaming of ways to escape the drudgery of his everyday lifestyle. Myrista had been the exact opposite. With her father gone and her uncle missing, there were only her family's physical possessions to cling to. Now the two children were destitute and hungry. The only thing they had left of value was the last piece of her heritage.

"Listen, Myrista." Edwynn began. "I'm sorry about the house n all, but we've got to start thinking about the future."

Brogan jumped to her defense. "Geeze, Ed! Show a little sympathy for the Light's sake. She's just lost everything!"

"No." Myrista sniffled. "Edwynn's right. It's just a stone… and we have to eat."

"Please, whatever you choose to do, choose it quietly." Mythril eyed the nearby farmhouse. "And quickly."

"I'll do it." Myrista swallowed back her tears. "I will go to the inn and barter the gem for dinner and lodging. We'll figure out some way to get Brogan and Mythril inside without drawing too much attention. And then…"

The young woman turned to face the Night Elf. She pulled her chin up and thrust her shoulders back. Her moisture rich eyes took a hardened stance, like diamonds. They reflecting the moonlight towards Mythril.

"Then, when we get inside, you're going to tell us what's going on. All of it. I want to know who those people were, and I want to know why they were after you. I want to know about the book, and about the demon, and about Brogan. And I want to know what all this has to do with my father."

"Wait a sec…" Edwynn felt his spine grow cold. He looked at Brogan. "Didn't you offer to trade the book for Myrista's life. Didn't you give it to one of the bandits!"

Brogan snickered and reached into the knapsack. Pulling out the thick green tome with the copper binding, he sneered. "Yeah. About that…"

Miles away to the north, Garrik Padfoot pulled at his hair and stared at his subordinate.

"They just disappeared? Gone?"

"Yes sir." The bandit cowered. "We searched the grounds. Every last inch. No tracks or nuthin'."

Padfoot swore. The hideout was destroyed and the culprits had escaped. VanCleef would hear about this. And soon. He had to do something fast or his own fate would be… sticky.

"We did get this though." The man presented a thick red book.

"What is it?" Padfoot asked. It wasn't widely known that he could not read.

"It's the book the boy gave me just before I cut his throat. I think it's the one the Twilight Hammer was after. It's called '_Powers of the Void._' It was written by someone called Khadgar.

"Useless. Throw it next to the tent. When the Marshall finds out it was me who ordered the hit on the Crownguard estate, he'll put a bounty on my head. Now leave me! I've got to figure out a way to salvage this situation."


	13. History Lessons

Chapter 13 – History Lessons

"There are things you children should know. Things about your world and your past that are not taught in schools. I know these things, because I am a Night Elf, and a member of the Cenarion Circle. For more than ten thousand years my order has worked to protect this world from those who would seek to control or harm it. We have stood against the tides of darkness since long before your Kingdoms were founded. And we will continue to stand until the end of all things.

"Among the druids of the Cenarion Circle, there are those of us who have the power of the dreaming. We can enter the Emerald Dream, a place that exists in parallel with this reality. From that place we can watch and learn many things. Sometimes we see events that occurred long ago, or may yet occur. It was in the dreaming that our story begins. Here, one of my order discovered a new threat to Azeroth.

"As you are undoubtedly aware, a vast a powerful force known as the Burning Legion has set its sights on dominating our world. Thousands of years ago they attempted to invade Kalimdor, but they were repulsed by the Night Elves of old. Since then, they have worked in secret to establish a foothold and an army to overwhelm all the peoples of this planet.

"It was the demons of the Burning Legion that corrupted the orcs of Draenor, turning them from their shamanistic ways. They gave the orcish warriors fel energies on the battlefields, and they gave the spell-weavers the powers of warlocks and necromancers, to command armies of demons and deathknights. And finally, it was the Burning Legion that created a line of communication between Gul'dan and the guardian Medivh.

"Medivh was a guardian, born human, and the most powerful weapon this world had against invasion. How did he fall into the enemy's hands? For decades your historians wondered at this question. And so it was that several of our druids entered the dreaming to attempt to scry the answer. In this way did my people learn of Balba'yorn, a demoness of great power and cunning. She was the consort of Kel'Jaden, and commanded vast magics to manipulate and corrupt the wills of others. Her ability to travel within the dream rivaled that of Malfurion himself. She had whispered to Gul'dan and his mentor Ner'zhul while they slept. She sent them visions of power, and an unspoiled world ready for conquest. We know also that she encountered Medivh, but there is some disagreement as to weather she was corrupting the human, or if perhaps it was Medivh who was instructing her. There is a dark secret there, one I am not privy to…

"And so it came to pass that Balba'yorn worked and shaped the destiny of two worlds. She guided the orcs of Draenor as well as the humans of Azeroth, to build a bridge. A dark portal, that would span the gap between their worlds, and allow for the passage of the Legion's newest army. She directed the engineers of the portal towards the knowledge they would need to craft this black gate. For it could only be fashioned at a particular location on each world, and at a particular conjunction of heavenly bodies and mystical energies. And so the orcs began to build on the Hellfire Peninsula, and the human side was crafted in a great swamp that was once known as the Black Morass.

"Once the gate was opened, the war between the orcs and humans began. Balba'yorn found that her abilities on the battlefield were limited from within the dream. She needed to manifest physically on Azeroth to bring her power to bare. And so she had Ner'zhul fashion an artifact that would serve as her avatar upon the mortal plane. But Ner'zhul was craftier and more intelligent that she expected. Instead of forging her a body, he made for her a prison. A codex, sealed in bronze and silver, that would harness the demon's powers towards his own ends. This is how the demon came to reside within the book.

"There is much uncertainty about what happened next. The fury and confusion of warfare is difficult to pierce. What we have discovered is that during the war, the prison was damaged. The majority of the book was lost. Most likely taken as a trophy by a human, or perhaps coming to rest in the hoard of one of the few remaining ogre-magi. No one knew exactly where it went. But a piece of the prison was found. It was taken by a warlock of the Blackrock orcs, who followed Rend Blackhand when he led his clan to declare independence from the horde and seek a home atop the great fortress of Blackrock Spire.

"For nearly three decades, this shard of the prison lay unnoticed among other artifacts of magic within the mountain. Then it came to pass that the dwarves who resided in the fiery depths below attempted to reclaim their lost fortress. They attacked the Blackrock orcs, and succeeded in liberating certain mystical artifacts. These dwarves, known as the Dark Irons, carried it back to their city beneath the mountain. There they began to study and experiment on it. And it is here that my own portion of the tale begins.

"Nearly two years ago my mentor Isop, of the Cenarion Circle, was asked to enter the dream. He began his investigations of the Dark Portal, so that he could learn the secrets of its construction. It was he that uncovered all that I have told you, and more. He saw the Dark Irons researching Balba'yorn's prison, using the shard they had found. Isop knew that, with the right magics, he could use the shard to find Balba'yorn, and destroy her.

"And so an expedition was founded. Our mission was to infiltrate the depths of the Dark Iron city and find the shard. I was chosen, along with several other druids, to assist in the endeavor. Our team set out from Kalimdor three months ago. We traveled to Ironforge Mountain, to elicit the aid of the Dark Iron clan's enemies. From Ironforge we traveled south, to the Blackrock Spire.

"The Dark Irons had few mages within their own race, so they had enlisted the aid of their allies, the cultists of the Twilight Hammer. The followers of the cult had discovered that, should they gain control of the shard, the might free Balba'yorn from her prison and unleash her power against their enemies. My friends and I managed to steal the artifact, but we were ambushed as we tried to escape. Our enemies were powerful and the odds of our successful escape grew slim. In desperation, Isop gave me the prison fragment and bid me flee south, towards the human lands. He remained behind with the others, to hold the line against our foes. I do not know their fate, but it was unlikely that any of them survived.

"I fled the mountain and crossed the Searing Gorge. Luck and Elune conspired to spare me from death and capture, at least for a while. I crossed the mountains into Elwynn Forest, and sought refuge in the first house I came across: the Crownguard manor.

"The rest of my tale you know. The Twilight Hammer pursued me across the mountains, and seems to have enlisted the aid of the local bandits in an attempt to capture me. They attacked your home and killed everyone except for Brogan and Myrista. I escaped and found Edwynn. I directed him towards where he would find the bandits, but I chose not to accompany him. My mission was too important to risk allowing the prison's shard to fall back into the enemy's grasp. So I continued south, towards Stormwind.

"But sometime after midnight I felt it: The forest shuddered, for something evil and loathsome had awoken in the eastern wood. I realized that it was no mere coincidence that I happened across that house this day. It seems that the goddess guided me to you for more than dinner and shelter. Logic would suggest that Myrista's uncle, who was present at the battle of Blackrock Spire thirty years ago, most likely recovered the main body of the codex. He brought the prison home to his house in Northshire, where it rested until tonight.

"And now you have seen with your own eyes children, the evil that Balba'yorn is capable of. She has already seduced one of your number, and will likely attempt to draw all of you further into her fold. She also possesses a most terrible knowledge: the means of constructing a new Dark Portal. This is a great and terrible power, and there are many who will exercise all their might to possess it. They think that they can use Balba'yorn for their own ends, but they will underestimate her cunning. She will trick them into releasing her from her bonds. And should she succeed, the demoness will not rest until all life on our world has been burned to ash."

The three children sat blinking in their room at the Lion's Pride Inn, listening to Mythril finish her tale. At last the Night Elf stopped speaking, and a cold silence fell across the room.

"Wow." Edwynn stated stupidly. "That's… pretty nuts."

"Yeah." Brogan rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted, they all were. But adrenaline and the terrors of the night had kept sleep from them.

"How did they know where to find you?" Myrista asked. "You had just arrived at my house only a couple of hours before the attack."

"The whole abbey knew she was there." Edwynn answered for her. "When I went there before dinner, everyone was talking about her. '_A Night Elf in Northshire_'. One of the farmhands must've spread the word."

"So what now?" Myrista asked.

"Can I see it?" Brogan looked at Mythril. "Can I see this prison fragment?"

Mythril stared at the warlock warily. After a moment's pause, she reached into her backpack and pulled out an oddly shaped piece of bronze. Brogan reached for it, but Mythril immediately pulled it back. "You will forgive my insult, but too many of my friends have died to allow you to risk looking any closer. You must understand, you are sworn to them now. To the demons."

Brogan merely frowned. Reaching into his own knapsack, he removed the bronze and green tome. It seemed so normal and harmless that for a moment Edwynn was certain he had dreamed the entire night's events. Unfortunately it only took a glance at Brogan's black skin to realize that this wasn't true.

Turning the book over in his hands, Brogan examined it closely. Indeed, on the back was a area where the bronze engraving had been damaged, and part of the corner was torn away.

"So this demon, she can visit people in their dreams?"

"Yes." Mythril placed her prison fragment into her knapsack. "Her powers are limited while the book is closed and locked. But she may have strength enough to reach out and visit our minds while we sleep. We must be guarded."

Brogan glanced at Myrista, then back at Mythril. "How do we destroy her?"

"I am not completely certain. We should travel as quickly as possible to Stormwind. There is a small enclave of my order stationed there, as ambassadors to the alliance. They should be able to shelter us, and allow us to rest and plan our next move."

Myrista spoke up then. "I think we should…"

"Not now." Mythril cut her off. "It is late, and we are all very tired. We need to rest and replenish ourselves. We will talk more in the morning." And with that the Night Elf waved her hand and all three children's eyes grew heavy and closed.


	14. Dream Girl

Chapter 14 – Dream girl

Edwynn blinked himself awake slowly. His sleep had been dreamless and his body no longer ached from exhaustion. Unfortunately his stomach had been empty for too long, and now his head ached. He breathed slowly, sat up, and surveyed his surroundings.

He was alone, but apparently this was a recent development. This room in the Lion's Pride Inn had two beds, and the one next to him had obviously been slept in. The accommodations were simple, with each bed having a small nightstand, and a single window showing the bright yellow sun. Brogan's cloak and oversized pants lay crumpled on the floor next to his knapsack.

'_What the heck? Is he running around naked or something?_' Edwynn thought to himself. He frowned down at the cloths he was wearing. His favorite linen shirt was torn and bloodstained, little more than a rag at this point. He had slept in his pants, which were caked in mud and grass stains. '_Man._' he pondered. '_How do real heroes keep their cloths clean all day?_'

There was a soft knock at the door. Edwynn waited and said nothing. It didn't occur to him that whoever was knocking was asking permission to enter, because he had never had his own room before. His corner of the servant's quarters had only been separated from the others by a long drape of cloth. The knock came a second time, and then the handle turned and the door swung inwards.

"Hello?" came Myrista's soft voice.

"Hey there." Edwynn was suddenly very self conscious of his manner of dress.

Myrista entered slowly, carrying a leather bundle and a tray of food. "I brought you some breakfast, I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks, I'm starving." The smell of herb roasted eggs and grilled wolf meat permeated the air. Edwynn practically ripped the plate from her grasp and began eating heartily. Myrista sat down across from him on the bed and began fidgeting with her skirt. The young priestess was no longer wearing her torn evening gown from the night before. She now had a simple linen dress suitable for any peasant village girl, and her hair was pulled back in a nondescript ponytail. It was possibly the most 'normal' that Edwynn had ever seen her.

"That's an interesting look for you." Edwynn muttered between bites. The girl seemed to pale somewhat and awkwardly thrust the bundle of leathers onto Edwynn's bed near his feet.

"The innkeeper gave me two gold crowns for the Star Ruby. That, and the promise of food and lodging for as long as we need it."

"I was there, remember." Edwynn coughed as he almost inhaled part of his egg. "I came in while Brogan and Mythril waited outside. That guy was pissed when we woke him up. Two young people demanding a room in the middle of the night, I bet he thought we were eloping or something."

"Edwynn, please!" Myrista went from pale to crimson. "Anyway, I got up early and went to the seamstress. She had some cloths that I thought might fit you. It's not much, but it's the least I can do to repay you for saving my life."

Edwynn placed his plate on the small nightstand and examined the bundle. It was a rough leather vest and a set of pants to match. Both were dyed black. '_These will blend into the shadows nicely_´ he smiled inwardly, and wondered if Myrista had been thinking of that. "Hey thanks. These are great. And you know what? I think these might be the first set of cloths I've ever owned that weren't hand-me-downs." Edwynn tugged off his bloodstained rag of a shirt.

"Um… I should leave so you can change." Myrista started to get up.

"Don't worry about it. That wasn't really covering anything." Edwynn pulled on the leather vest. It was a little snug across the torso. "Where's Brogan?"

"He's trying to find Mythril."

"What? Where is she?"

As if on cue, the door opened and Brogan stepped inside. Edwynn gasped at seeing the warlock.

"You're cured!"

"Hardly." Brogan threw himself down on the bed next to Myrista. The black skin was gone. His blue eyes seemed somehow more vibrant now that he looked human again. Like Edwynn he was wearing new cloths. His were plain linen however, giving the impression that he was about to start the day behind the counter of a local shop. Only his bandaged left hand gave any clue of the previous night's events.

"What happened to your…" Edwynn made a feeble hand gesture towards his eyes.

"I discovered an incantation to repress the demon skin. It should last another half hour or so, which will give me time to get out of here and on the road to Stormwind."

"Wait, back up a second." Edwynn glanced out the window. It was only mid-morning but apparently he had missed a great deal. "Where's Mythril?"

"Gone. She stole the book and snuck away before we woke up." Brogan didn't seem surprised or even annoyed.

"What? Why would she do that? Where would she go?"

"I think she went to the Park. It's one of the neighborhoods in Stormwind." Myrista commented. "I've seen Night Elves there, when I used to go into the city with father."

"But why didn't she bring us?"

"Because she doesn't trust us." Brogan scowled. "That, and she probably thinks we'd slow her down, or that we can't survive what she's getting into. She doesn't care about us. She thinks we're just kids, and that we can just run back to Northshire like nothing happened."

There was silence for a moment. Then Myrista said "Actually, that sounds like a good idea."

"What?" Brogan and Edwynn said together.

"Think about it. Mythril was hunting for this mystical book. Now she's got it and is probably halfway to the capital by now. Why shouldn't we go home?"

"I don't know how well you remember last night, but there's not much home to go back to." Edwynn's comment made Myrista's lips press together.

"I remember last night very well, thank you. I don't plan on just standing by and letting a bunch of hoodlums destroy everything my family built. I'm a Crownguard. I'm going to do something about it."

"Like what? Buy a new manor with two gold crowns?" Edwynn sat up and looked her straight in the eye. "Myrista, there's nothing to go back to."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

Brogan interrupted. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I need to go after that book."

"Why?" Edwynn asked.

"You're smarter than you let most people think, Edwynn. You know why."

There was a pause for a couple of seconds. Then Edwynn sprang up from the bed, terrified eyes locked onto the warlock. Brogan didn't flinch, but Myrista gasped. "What's wrong?"

"The incantation! The spell to make you look human! Where did you learn it? Who taught it to you?"

"I AM human, Ed." Brogan growled, and spell or no spell, there seemed to be heat coming from his eyes.

"Brogan, what's he talking about?" Myrista started to withdraw from him on the bed. The blonde boy's expression fell as he saw her pull away.

"Last night I had a dream." Brogan began. "A very special dream…"

"Open your eyes, dear heart. It's time to get up."

Brogan's eyes fluttered open. It was late afternoon. He was lying in a field of grass, his head resting on a woman's leg. She was playing with his hair absent-mindedly. The air smelled fresh and pure. It reminded Brogan of…

"Dalaron!"

Brogan jumped to his feet. He was standing on a rocky slope overlooking the city of his birth. Dalaron, kingdom of magic. Home of the Kiran Tor, and wizards who commanded magics vast and powerful. The city walls and spires glistened in the late afternoon sun, seeming to shimmer as if seen through a pane of glass. The city was perfect, unspoiled. Just as he remembered it the day he left so many years ago.

"It is quite beautiful." Said the voice.

Edwynn turned. Behind him on the hill was a woman. He didn't recognize her, but she seemed to remind him of his mother. She sat with her legs folded under her, and until just a moment ago his head had been on her lap.

"What's going on? What am I doing here?"

"You are leaving." The woman pointed towards the city. From the south gate a train of wagons was slowly pulling away from the city. They were refugees fleeing from some unknown terror. To the north storm clouds crowded the horizon, a portent of dire things to come.

"You remember this day well, don't you?" The woman's voice was familiar.

"Prince Arthas is coming." Brogan recalled aloud. "He is leading his undead army to destroy the city. The Kiran Tor said that he would never breech the mystic barrier. But mom didn't believe them. She said Arthas had already destroyed the elves, who had taught us humans everything we knew about magic. She knew the city would fall. She's sending me to Southshore. From there we're going by boat to Stormwind."

"Your mother was wise. Arthas knew that any fortress's defenses could be breached, if you throw enough troops at it. And he had so many troops."

"I know your voice." Brogan ignored the vision of the city and focused on the woman. "You're the demon."

"Please, let us be civil." The woman stood. As she did, her form became fuzzy, her features indistinct. "My people are called the Eredar. Demon is such an unfriendly word. And we are going to be good friends, aren't we? Our…'relationship' will be much easier that way."

The hill began to change. Time began to pass at a hundred times its normal speed. The soft grasses bloomed and became overgrown with ferns and bushes. A thick, hot fog rolled in. Trees appeared and aged, growing tall and blocking out the sunlight. The thick canopy of leaves obscured the sky; making the air itself cast everything in a green radiance.

"Where am I?" Brogan asked.

"You know where you are." The ghostly woman answered. "You are in Goldshire, at the Lion's Pride Inn. You are sound asleep. And as such I was able to pull you here, into this realm."

"The Emerald Dream..." Brogan looked around to the lush growth around him.

"A wonderful and dangerous place. Ambition and memories can take a physical presence here. You should be cautious."

"Why have you brought me here? What do you want from me?"

"To educate you, in a manner of speaking. We do not have much time." With that the shadowy figure raised a hand and gestured. The trees in that direction creaked and swayed. The green air darkened and Brogan could make out shadowy forms moving about. He felt himself drawn towards them and, much like a real dream, he stepped into that direction almost against his will. Moving closer he saw the forest give way to a room. Ferns and grass became wooden flooring, and he found himself looking into his room at the inn. Edwynn snored loudly on a bed at the far side of the room, and he looked down at his own sleeping form on the nearby bed.

"By the Light, is that what I look like?"

The sleeping Brogan lay on his stomach, wearing only his oversized pants. His ink black skin seemed like a hole in the room's darkness. The sleeping boy's eyes twitched as he dreamed and occasional flutters of light escaped from beneath his lids.

"I'm a monster…" he muttered.

"I take offense to that." The woman answered. "I think you're beautiful. And as you know, the demon skin is hardier than human flesh, and regenerates quickly. It's also resistant to various magics. A useful tool for the future."

"I hate it!" he snarled. His sleeping form twitched. "I want to go back! Change me back!"

"The blood pact is permanent. It cannot be undone. However there are spells to suppress its changes."

"What are they? Tell me!"

"Not so fast. First you must do something for me…"

"No!" Brogan pointed at his wraithlike tormentor. "I was raised around wizards, and grew up on stories of your demonic tricks. Give something to get something. Nothing without it's price. Your demon lies are the reason I have this… affliction. Well I'm not going to fall deeper into your web. I don't care what you want; you're not going to get it."

The womanly shape folded her arms and gave the impression of a smile. "Good." She said. "I'm glad you're angry. I was beginning to think I overestimated your willpower."

"What do you want from me?"

"Protection." She said, and a light shown from the bedroom. The hallway door opened and Mythril entered the dream. She stepped to the edge of the bed and knelt there, next to Brogan and his knapsack.

"Time is short, dear heart." The demoness said.

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"Because we are married, sort of." Brogan felt the cut on his left hand pulse with heat. On the bed his body twitched and moaned. The Night Elf froze and watched him.

"Listen to me Brogan." The dream woman said. "The Night Elves are prejudiced against my people, and with good reason. But they do not know what we know. You and I are bonded now, and nothing can ever change that. The elves' hatred of me will become a hatred of you. Do not trust them. They will try to imprison or kill you, just as they did with poor Illidan. You must bypass or overcome their tricks if we are to succeed."

"Succeed at what?"

"I have given you a great gift, young one, but it is you who must wield it. You can command incredible energies, and summon powerful entities. But you lack the skills to do so. You must learn to control your gifts, and quickly."

"What for?" Brogan asked. "Wealth? Power? What can you offer me that would be worth this living hell?"

The woman's form rippled like water. Suddenly Myrista was standing before him. Her white skin and black hair seemed to shine in the fog.

"Oh, thank the Light." The girl threw herself at him and clutched him tightly to her. She felt vividly real. The softness of her chest, her nails on his back, the smell of her hair, it was all so real.

"Oh Brogan, I was having the most incredible dream. You were there, and I was so scared. But you were brave and powerful. And I thought… oh, it's so shameful what I thought. But it doesn't matter…" Myrista pulled away slightly, her cheeks flushed with color. She gazed up at him. "You know, I don't remember you being so tall…"

"Stop it! It's not true!" Brogan pushed her away and she stumbled back against a tree.

"You're right." Myrista's lips moved, but the voice was the demon. The creature blinked once and its eyes turned solid black. "It's not true, but it can be. I can see into her dreams just as easily as yours. I know her heart's desires, even the ones that are buried too deep for her to admit. She's not a pure as everyone believes. But I think being tied up by those bandits awoke something deep inside her."

"Shut up!" Brogan covered his ears, but somehow that made the demon's laughter louder. Glancing to the room where his body lay dreaming he could see Mythril was lifting the codex from his knapsack. Carefully the druid placed the book in her own pack.

The voice resounded in Brogan's mind. "She means to take me to the Night Elves in Stormwind. They are fools. I can handle them easily enough. But you must listen to me, dear heart. You are not ready for the challenges that lie ahead. Not yet. Go to the Slaughtered Lamb, in Stormwind. There are people there who can give you the training you will need to survive."

"What about my friends?"

"They may yet prove useful. Especially your crafty schoolmate. He's more resourceful than he seems.

Mythril rose and headed towards the door. As she stepped into the hallway the sunlight in the forest began to dim. Brogan felt himself drawn towards his sleeping form. As he neared it, an incantation burned itself into his mind. He saw his body muttering the words. Black skin paled and thinned. Burning eyes dimmed and went out. Then everything was darkness.

"So you just cast the spell? You repeated the words the demon told you without even wondering what it would do?"

"Don't be an idiot, Ed. I've learned enough of the demon's language to have a rough idea of what a spell does."

Brogan had told the two of them most of his dream encounter. He carefully held back the part where Balba'yorn had transformed into Myrista, substituting instead a girl from the abbey who Brogan had no interest in. He had watched Myrista carefully at that part, but the priestess gave no signs of jealously.

"And no, before you ask." Brogan continued. "I don't trust her. She's a demon. She's already afflicted me, and by all accounts she is out to destroy the world. But we'd be dead in a shack in Northshire is it wasn't for her. That, and the vision of Mythril stealing the book. Now we're here. Mythril is gone. The book is gone. I think what she showed me was what happened."

"So I guess its Stormwind then." Edwynn said quietly.

Myrista mused to herself. "The Slaughtered Lamb… I've heard of it. I think my father used to go there."

"Well, we're wasting time." Brogan said. "I can feel the spell wearing off, like water dripping away after a bath. We should get out of here."

Packing took less than two minutes. They had no weapons and only one knapsack between them. Edwynn wolfed down the rest of his meal and the three of them descended to the inn's common room. There Myrista went to settle their bill and buy a lunch. With luck they could make Stormwind by dusk.

"So what about you?" Brogan asked.

"Huh?" Edwynn responded.

"You don't want to run home to Northshire? It wasn't your house that burned down. And no magic curse is making you chase after that damned book."

"Go back to being a servant in some rich lord's house, and have everyone tell me how lucky I am to have a job? No thanks. I'll take my freedom and the responsibility to make my own way over that old life any day. But Jorik always said 'Never make a move without a plan'. I guess I could…"

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Edwynn felt himself turned around and practically thrown backwards against the wall. The rogue looked up to see a big man with white hair glaring at him. An enormous warhammer occupied his right fist.

"So…" The man said in a deep baritone. "You're the one who burned down my house and ran off with my niece, eh?"


	15. Reunions

Chapter 15 – Reunions

"Uncle Mallet!"

Myrista flew towards the white haired man and embraced him furiously. He seemed quite surprised by this, but his hostile attitude dropped after a couple seconds when he realized who it was that was 'attacking' him.

"Light be praised, Myrista! Why, look at you!" The big man pushed her back to look her up and down. "You've grown up completely! You're the very image of your mother, but with my brother's hair." The old man then returned her embrace, lifting her clear off the ground.

This left Brogan and Edwynn blinking at each other in awe. Edwynn had never seen Mallius before, but had lived under the constant promise of his return. Whenever anything undisciplined happened at home. Corbin would use the threat 'wait until master Crownguard returns. Then you'll be sorry for your slacking off!'".

Brogan was even more amazed. The only things he knew about Captain Mallius "Mallet" Crownguard were the hundreds of war stories told around the abbey hearths every week. Mallet had fought in all three wars and survived them intact, a feat mimicked by few others. Stories grew with time and retellings, and many things attributed to Mallet were simply impossible. It had been so long since anyone had seen him that only the Crownguard household itself actually believed he was still alive. Stories had been circulating of how he died, but most were obvious fables.

A soft cough pulled Edwynn's attention away from the reunited family. Standing to his left, having appeared from almost nowhere a cloaked man was now standing within arms reach. The man pulled his hood back to reveal his face.

"You've had an eventful night." The stable master smiled.

"Jorik!" Elation flooded Edwynn and he started laughing and jumping like an idiot. Jorik chuckled and the Crownguards pulled themselves apart to watch the young rogue make a spectacle of himself to his mentor. Brogan smiled broadly and Myrista's eyes shone with tears.

"Oh uncle I've missed you so much!"

"I'm sorry it took me so long to come home, but I had… an errand to run. An oath to discharge. In Ogrimar, of all places, actually. But all that's behind us now. I'm here, and I'm going to set things right."

Meanwhile, Edwynn had calmed himself down considerably. "Jorik, what are you doing in Goldshire? How did you find us?"

"Oh, it wasn't that hard. We went from one burning manor house to another. You certainly know how to make an exit, boy! But seriously, I ran into Mallet yesterday in Stormwind. We made our way back to Northshire together. On the way we were jumped by a couple of Defias thugs. They were just Amateurs really. After a little…persuading they told us about the attack and how a couple of prisoners were taken back to their hideout. I just so happened to know where that was, so the big guy and I headed over there. Wouldn't you know it but that house was on fire too. We found another guy trying to loot some of the Defias treasure trove from out the back of the house. He mentioned how fifty Defias soldiers had died when the prisoners transformed into great beasts or fiery-eyed hellions. From there your trail led south. I figured it was late, you were probably tired and hungry, so I guessed you'd come here. And my guesses are usually right."

"Man, am I ever glad you found us. I've got so much to fill you in about. There's Mythril and this book…"

"Not here." Jorik held up his hand and glanced around. "This isn't the place for talk like that. You made some nasty enemies last night. Enemies with connections in this town. You kids need to get out of here."

"Yes." Brogan butted into the conversation. "We should get on the road soon. Very soon." He gave Edwynn a meaningful glance. His eyes seemed to shimmer like the air on a hot afternoon.

Edwynn turned to the Crownguards. "Um, guys. There'll be plenty of time to catch up on the road to Stormwind."

Mallet was about to protest, but a signal of some kind from Jorik stopped him. He sighed then, and turned to his niece. "You've grown up a lot since the last time I was here, but I'm sure Star won't mind giving you a ride."

A smile split her face from ear to ear. "Your horse is here? Oh, I must see her!" and with that she half ran, half skipped out the front door. Mallet and Brogan followed. Edwynn was about to bring up the rear when Jorik pressed something into his hand.

"You'll probably need this where you're going."

"You're not coming with us?" Edwynn's elevated mood drained suddenly.

"No, I have work to do here. Someone needs to stay behind and buy you some time. Mallet's presence will make that easier. A couple of juicy rumors and local hero sightings should buy you a day or two. When you get to Stormwind, slip away from the others and find your way to Old Town. A large building in the southeast end is the home of Mathias Shaw. The network is expecting your report. Don't keep them waiting."

Edwynn didn't move. Instead he opened the bundle Jorik had given him. Inside was a set of thin throwing knives and a pearl-handled dagger.

"The blade's enchanted. Nothing fancy, just a simple spell to keep the edge sharp and bind it to the owner. Keeps it from getting lost. Pretty handy for people in our line of work."

"Our line of work? You said the network was expecting my report. Does that mean they might let me join them?"

"Join them? Kid, you've been working for them for two months! What, you think the tailoring shop in Goldshire just happened to have a set of leathers in your size by accident? Now move it, you're out of time."

They were about a mile outside of town when Brogan excused himself to 'answer the call of nature.' The whole time Myrista had been talking excitedly from the back of Mallet's charger, Star. The mount was huge, carrying the young priestess without even noticing her weight. Mallet, Edwynn, and Brogan all walked. The horse had been Mallet's companion for nearly twenty years, but looked as young and hearty as any mare in Jorik's stable. She pulled a small wagon carrying the paladin's meager possessions. Edwynn had thought to ride it, but a stern look from the elder Crownguard set him back to walking.

Myrista talked constantly while they waited for Brogan. Edwynn found this rather irritating but said nothing to interrupt her. Jorik had started teaching him how to 'read people' in the last couple of weeks. Myrista's inane babbling was her way of coping with all the stress that had built up, not just last night, but over the nearly a year that she had been leading the household. What annoyed Edwynn was that she seemed to be avoiding talk of any of the important issues. She carried on about managing the farmhands, or the tax situation, or school. But she specifically avoided talking about last night, or her father.

Mallius too seemed to realize that she was venting for her own benefit, not his. He occasionally would cast a glance in Edwynn's direction and smile while rolling his eyes. Then immediately prompt Myrista for some minor detail of her story. Edwynn decided he liked the old paladin. Mallius was smaller than he sounded like in stories, but was still a big man. His face was hard and weathered like old leather. His white hair was neat and cut long, stopping just above his shoulders. His face was clean shaven except for a tuft of white beard on his chin. He wore no armor, but a bulky sack in the wagon sounded full of something heavy and metal. Next to it he had placed his silver-headed warhammer.

The weapon was fantastic. The white pine shaft was notched by battle in a hundred places. The head was a solid block of metal studded with runes. While not exactly glowing, it did seem to emanate a sense of weight and force.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Mallius asked.

"Huh." Edwynn blinked up. It seemed that he had been staring at the hammer for a while. Both of the Crownguards were watching him with smiles.

"The hammer's name is _Godkend_. Dwarven for 'Justice'. It was crafted after the second war as a gift to the alliance from the Wildhammer clan. Uther lent it to me six years ago, when the troubles in Lorderon were just beginning. After he died, the Order of the Silver Hand splintered. Saiden Dathrohan wanted me to bring it to Hearthglen, but bishop Benedictus asked me to hold onto it. Good thing to, since the Scarlett Crusade seems to have descended into a kind of zealotry that would have made Uther's skin crawl. Anyway, I'll give it back to Benedictus when we get to Stormwind."

"You're not going to keep it?" Edwynn asked. "It must be worth a fortune."

"I'm done with war. Godkend is a powerful tool against evil. And would be wasted hanging above a mantle place in Northshire. There's a lot of work to be done." He gave Edwynn an odd look at that point. The rogue was about to ask him what he meant when Brogan returned.

"Sorry that took so long. Must have been breakfast." The blonde was smiling, and seemed to be in a genuine good mood. "Still feeling a little queasy. I may have to go again in about an hour."

"Brogan, right?" Mallius frowned at the youth. "Come here lad."

The warlock stepped forward slowly. The old man held out his left hand.

"Let me see that wound of yours." His tone was casual, but his blue eyes were cold as ice. Brogan glanced at the hammer in the cart, ten feet away. Fear coursed through him. Mallet was a champion of the alliance, and had been killing warlocks and demons for over thirty years. What would he think if he knew the truth? But Brogan was caught now, and there was no escape. Slowly he lifted his own hand and placed it in Mallet's hand.

The paladin slowly unwrapped the wound and looked at it. Gripping Brogan's hand tightly by the wrist, the old man gently pulled at the skin around the wound. Brogan winced in pain, but didn't cry out.

"There's trouble here." He said. His eyes were locked to Brogan's carrying hidden meanings. The warlock merely nodded in response.

Mallet released Brogan's hand and went to Star's saddlebag. He pulled out a fresh woolen bandage and a wooden splint. He then returned to the boy and began to dress the wound properly.

"A cut to the palm is bad business. If it gets infected, or heals improperly, you'll lose the ability to close your fingers. I've seen men get gangrene and lose arms from wounds smaller than that."

"Yes sir." Was all Brogan could say.

Mallet finished the dressing. Brogan could move his fingers, but his palm was immobilized.

"That should speed the healing. You'll need to clean and dress it twice a day or it could get ugly."

"Yes sir. Thank you, sir."

Mallet took Star's reigns and began to lead her onward. Brogan and Edwynn exchanged glances. Inwardly Brogan gave a sigh of relief.

"That happened yesterday?" Mallet asked without looking back.

"Yes… Sir!" Brogan replied.

"And my niece's magic couldn't heal it?"

Fear washed over Brogan. Silence was his only response.

"How about you kids tell me what happened. All of it."

They walked all day, and it took almost the entire time to tell the story. Mallet worked backwards, asking each of them to fill in the parts they knew best. Myrista talked about Nicholas's behavior during his final months at the manor. He asked Brogan about his dreams, and why he came to the manor in the middle of the rainstorm. He asked Edwynn about Mythril and the events in the forest before his capture. He was surprisingly gentle in his interrogation, and by late afternoon all three children had a better idea of the events of the evening than before.

Finally they came to part where Brogan told the story of his dream encounter with the demoness Balba'yorn. Once again the young man omitted that the creature took Myrista's form. Mallet listened to it all, nodding his head the whole time.

"This is my fault." The old paladin stated at last. Mallet's face had grown darker and angrier since they recounted Mythril's tale of the book's history. "I should never have brought Mog No'ku gi Maguna home."

"Mog what gi what?" Edwynn asked.

"It's orcish. It means '_the book of worlds_'. I found it on the battlefield below Blackrock Mountain. That was the day Lothar died. Once Ogrim was captured, we routed the remains of the Horde. Late that afternoon I saw four orcish warlocks killing each other as they squabbled over some treasure. My men and I took advantage of this and ambushed them. One of the enemies got away, and from your story he was the one who had a piece of the prize. I couldn't read orcish, but I knew the book was valuable and magical. At camp that night I showed it to one of the elven mages who traveled with us. He said he would have a look at it."

"That night he woke me in my tent, his eyes wide with fear. He told me the book was filled with deadly orc secrets, and must never be opened by anyone. He gave it back to me, and said not to show it to the Kirin Tor, or the elves, or anyone else. He bade me keep it secret, and never, under any circumstances, to burn it. The next day there was a minor battle with some of the Horde remnants. The elf mage volunteered to go with the skirmishers who were sent to flush out the enemy. He never returned. Accounts were conflicted, but one scout said he saw the mage start to cast a fireball, but instead throw it at his own feet, and let the flames consume him."

"I kept the book with me for the rest of the war. When I finally returned to Stormwind, there was a lot of rebuilding to be done. The king gave me a grant of land in Northshire, and I used my spoils to build the manor and hire some homesteaders. I put the book in an old trunk, and shoved it in the back of the attic. Sometimes I would have a dream about it. But otherwise it was out of mind completely."

"We cleared out the attic about two springs ago." Edwynn offered.

"I remember." Myrista added. "And a couple of months later was when father started acting… peculiar."

"Indeed…" Mallet mused. "I should have thrown it into the Swamp of Sorrows when I had the chance. My brother must somehow have found it and opened it and begun all of this. If only I had come home sooner…"

"Don't blame yourself uncle. You couldn't have known…"

"Damn you Nicholas, what have you begun here?" Mallet glanced at Brogan. "You made the right choice young man."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Brogan blinked disbelievingly at the paladin.

"You chose to stand and fight instead of accepting almost certain death. Many would not have made that decision. You've got courage and spirit. I don't know much about demon magic, but every warlock I've heard of choose to take the pact for power or greed. You choose it out of sacrifice, to save the lives of your friends and to battle evil. That is a noble deed."

Brogan was stunned. The hero of Northshire was calling him noble? "You don't hate me because I'm a warlock?"

"Uther once told me that we should judge men by their deeds, not their titles. Of course, he wasn't exactly talking about this at the time, but the quote works. No, I don't hate you young man, but I don't envy you either. The magic of the Light can be used to perform great deeds and heal terrible wounds, but demon magic can only be used to destroy. And that is something it does very, very well. But keep your chin up lad. You seem to have a strong will. If you fight, I think you'll find the strength to hold out against the corrupting influences of this monster. At least until I destroy her."

"But uncle, we don't even know exactly where Mythril went. How will we find her?"

"We aren't going to find her, because you aren't going to be looking." Mallet gave his niece a stern look. "You're too young for this sort of work. All of you are. As soon as we get to Stormwind we're going straight to the cathedral. If I have my way Myrista, you'll be in a nunnery far from danger until I get all this settled."

"Uncle please!"

"Don't give me any lip, young lady. I've risked my life for thirty years trying to keep you and your father safe from the evils of this world. You're the last of the Crownguards. I'm not going to let you run off and get killed when there are others who are vastly more prepared to do this sort of work."

Edwynn half-laughed at the thought of Myrista as a nun. Brogan asked the question: "Prepared for what sort of work? Fighting demons?"

"Yes as a matter of fact. Battle mages, combat priests, or even professional soldiers. I hear the Night Elves even have demon hunters who have devoted hundreds of years to this very cause. You kids got lucky last night, but you're a long way from being cut out for the job ahead. Now, I can't force you boys to do anything you don't want, but my niece is going to finish her schooling."

"But uncle…"

"He's right Myrista." Brogan said suddenly. She looked back at him, and even Mallet seemed surprised to hear him agree. For his own part, Brogan was remembering what Balba'yorn had said, about needing training. "I think we all need to consider if we've got what it takes for what we're up against."

Myrista frowned and faced forward. "I'm not a little girl anymore." Was all she said.

They rounded a corner then, and came out of the forest. Edwynn stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead the ground rose quickly as the road approached a monstrous white stone gate. Door over fifty feet wide stood open, letting a stream of people flow in and out of the eighty foot tall wall. Shining white steeples and rooftops could be seen beyond the gate's battlements. And in the distance the towers of Stormwind keep rose towards the clouds. It was larger and more fantastic than any dream the boy had ever had.

"I guess we're here…" Edwynn said at last.


	16. Stormwind

Chapter 16 – Stormwind

Everything about Stormwind was enormous. The entire city seemed to be built for giants. Inside the city gates the land fell away to form a natural valley. A lake, two hundred yards across had formed here, and the bridge that spanned it was at least fifty feet wide. The lake originally worked as moat of the defense, but it had been more than twenty years since the city had been attacked. Now it served as a local fishing spot, and wharf for dozens of small pleasure boats.

Huge statues rose on each side of the road. Towering effigies larger than Northshire's belfry overshadowed the everyday citizens. The first two were of a dwarf and a human warrior, weapons in hand. Fifty feet further the statues were of a female high-elf holding aloft an eagle, and human archmage with flowing robes. At the end of the road stood a final figure. A solemn human with a broken sword in his left hand and a book in his right. His cold stone face looked down in down in judgment at all who passed before his feet.

"Who were they?" Edwynn asked.

"Friends" Mallet said darkly. At the base of the final monument the road split and passed through a series of gatehouses and open portcullis. The paladin began to lead Star forward along the road towards the city.

"Did you know them uncle?" Myrista asked as they passed under the dwarf's shadow.

"Not all of them, at least not very well. They are the heroes of the second war. I never really met Kurdran or Captain Windrunner, but I saw them often in the command tent and at briefings. Duke Trollbane made it his business to see and know the men. He was a tactical genius, but he and I didn't always see eye to eye. Archmage Khadgar I knew from the tour I spent at Netherguard Keep. He was Medivh's apprentice, and at one time the most powerful human sorcerer on Azeroth. Now the only reason kids like you know his name is because of that damn weed they named after him. Khadgar's Whisker. But Turalyon… He and I went way back. We rose through the ranks together during the second war. The last thing he said to me before the fighting separated us was '_Hey Mallet, you still owe me ten crowns_.'" The paladin stopped talking then. His eyes were wet and he swallowed slowly.

"Did they die in battle?" Edwynn asked.

"I hope so. No one knows for sure. They stayed behind on Draenor to seal the Dark Portal from the far side. You see, the leader of the orcs was a warlock named Ner'zhul. He had built a half dozen other Dark Portals, each leading to a different world. But these new gates would not open unless he had certain mystic artifacts the Horde had left behind on our world during the first war. So two years after Lothar died, the orcs reopened the Dark Portal and decimated Netherguard Keep. We thought the Horde had returned to finish what they had started. We didn't understand that it wasn't an invasion. So King Terenas of Lordaeron called the alliance together to form an expedition to Draenor. We built a base on Hellfire Peninsula called Hope's End. It was supposed to defend the portal and secure our supply line to Azeroth. From there we assaulted the orc's stronghold. Ultimately we failed. Ner'Zhul was able opened those other gates, but something went wrong and the energies released began to tear Draenor apart."

"What went wrong?" Brogan asked.

"Who can know? Maybe our assaults pressured him into acting too soon? Maybe he was missing an artifact or two? The last days of Draenor are a blur to me. The orcs were the first to discover that their world was doomed. The only escape was the portal to Azeroth. The entire orcish nation rose against us like an ocean. They swept over the walls at Hope's End and we were forced to withdraw to the central keep. We watched as they rushed through the gate by the hundreds. Khadgar realized that if the gate remained open. Azeroth would share Draenor's fate. He began casting a spell to seal the gate. Once the orcs discovered that we were trying to close it, they swarmed the keep. You can't imagine so many orcs. Tens of thousands. My squad and I held our position as the ground beneath our feet broke apart and sailed upwards. I called the Light again and again, until I could barely walk. My men faltered. It was the end, we all knew it."

"Then I saw Fordragon. Turalyon ordered him to round up as many men as possible and escape through the portal back to Azeroth. I thought of your father then, Myrista, and the families of the men under my command. I ordered the squad to abandon our position just as our position decided to abandon us. Our watchtower flew up into the air just as the last man stepped off of it. We ran for the portal. The orcs closed in all around us. The men in the rear were getting cut to pieces. I dropped my sword and helm, and carried the wounded instead. Twice I crossed into Azeroth, and twice I went back for those who couldn't make it without aid. The third time luck caught up with me and a troll axe split my breastplate. Fordragon himself threw me over Star's back. She carried me bleeding across the threshold."

"I awoke in the field hospital three days later. The Dark Portal was closed and Turalyon, Khadgar, and the others remained behind on the other side. Of the four men I carried back, three didn't make it. The last one was going to name his firstborn son after me. I told him to name it after Turalyon instead."

Mallet looked up at the statue of his lost friend. The lifeless granite eyes gave no response.

"By the Light I hate this road."

Beyond the gatehouse sprawled the trade district of Stormwind. Shops were set up as far as the eye could see. The air was filled with the cries of vendors and the smells of exotic foods. As the sun was setting to the west, it cast everything in a yellow-orange glow. People in every manner of dress imaginable hurried about their business.

"There she is!" Edwynn couldn't believe his luck. He pointed to a tall Night Elf selling enchantments in front of the cheese shop.

"That's not her. That doesn't even look like her." Myrista corrected. Closer inspection proved her right. This Night Elf was slightly less tall, probably only seven feet in height. She had much shorter hair and looked to be about thirty pounds heavier. Edwynn turned away and spotted a second Night Elf coming out of a nearby apothecary. He was about to point that one out to the group, until he realized it was male. 'HE' was also wearing chain mail and carried an enormous bow. Wherever he was going, he was in a hurry. In seconds he vanished into the crowd and was gone.

The main road terminated at a kind of bazaar. Mallet pulled Star to a halt and assisted Myrista down from her back. He then gathered the three children together, trying to keep their attention as a fight broke out between two stocky dwarves.

"First time in the city?" Mallet asked.

"Yes, sir." Edwynn replied.

"I've lived in Dalaron." Brogan answered. "But it was nothing like this. Look, Edwynn! That man is selling wolf pelts for five silver apiece! You couldn't get ten coppers for that whole stack back home."

"Yeah." The rogue answered. "And those crab cakes are nearly a gold!"

Mallet nodded stoically. "That's the first thing you learn about cities: everything here is more expensive. You can find anything you want, if you have the time and money. But realize that this can be a dangerous place. All this wealth attracts the wrong element. There are a lot of displaced people from the countryside who flock to the city seeking refuge, or opportunity. There aren't enough jobs, so people turn to crime. Don't listen to anyone who's trying to sell you something, or wants you to follow them down an alley. And watch your wallets while you're here."

"Lucky us, we haven't got any money."

"Is that so…" Mallet looked at the two boys carefully. "Well then, here's how this will work. We have about two hours of daylight left, and I can see that you're itching to do some exploring. I know I was the first time I saw this place. I'll get us a suite at the Gilded Rose. It's not as fancy as the Pig and Whistle, but Star likes the stables better. Something about the oats." Mallet patted the mare's flank. "I don't know how long it's going to take me to track down this druid, or if she'll even have the book, but you two are welcome to stay with Myrista and I as long as you want. It's the least I can do for you."

"Thank you, sir." Brogan replied. Edwynn didn't say anything. His eyes were following the bosom of a female warrior whose armor seemed to be missing pieces in certain key areas.

"Okay, pay attention. The Gilded Rose is right behind you. Here's a half crown each. Do some looking around, get yourselves something to eat, stay out of trouble, and meet me in the common room before ten tonight."

"Ten?" Edwynn gasped. "That's almost four hours from now!"

"I'm not your father lad. Besides, there are no bears or wolves waiting to prey on young children here. But there are other dangers. This city changes after dark, unlike Ironforge which is pretty much the same no matter what hour it is. Be careful, keep your wits about you and you'll do fine."

"Do I get to do any looking around, uncle?"

"No Myrista. You and I have work to do."

"Pardon me, sir" Edwynn said to the knight. "Do you know which way Old Town is from here?"

Mallet smiled. "Jorik gave you an errand to run, eh? Not surprising I suppose. Go that way, under an arch and across the canal. But don't stay there too late. It's a rough neighborhood."

"Thank you, sir." And without another word the raven-haired boy dashed and was instantly lost in the crowd.

"Spirited little rascal isn't he?" Mallet commented.

"Annoyingly so." Myrista replied.

Brogan excused himself to find a bathroom and get some food. He said his feet hurt from walking all afternoon, and he expected he would meet them in the common room in less than an hour. This left the Crownguards alone together. The two of them led Star in silence to the stables. There Mallet began to unhitch the wagon.

"You don't think I can take care of myself, do you uncle?" Myrista asked.

"I knew this was coming…" Mallet whispered under his breath. His horse seemed to snort a laugh at him. Mallet glared at the mare before answering his niece. "As a matter of fact young lady, I don't"

"It's because I'm a girl, isn't it."

"Nope." Mallet removed Star's saddle. "I'm met plenty of women who can fight and hold their own on the field."

"Then it's because I'm a priestess. Because I don't carry a sword or wear armor."

"That's got nothing to do with it."

"Then why uncle?"

"Because you're just thirteen years old. The world is tough enough…"

"I'm sixteen!" she said.

Mallet paused and looked at her. Indeed, the cherub-cheeked features he remembered from before he left had been replaced with the fine lines of early womanhood. Legs that had used to dangle from Star's flanks now easily reached the stirrups. Mallet frowned. He had been gone longer that he thought. His little niece who used to beg for candied cakes and piggyback rides was all grown up.

"I'm sorry, you're right." He said. "I'm treating you like a child and you no longer are one."

"Thank you, uncle."

"But you're still not coming. Now listen to me before you start up again. I've been on the front lines for most of my life. I've seen and done things too horrible to describe. But I did them because I knew it kept you and your father safe from danger."

"You were always a willful little girl growing up. You took after my brother that way. When I read in his letters that you had taken up the cloth, I was overjoyed. It's a noble thing, to be a priest, but it's selfless and far from easy. It means devoting yourself to the health and welfare of others. And there's little glory in it. Heroes are often portrayed as mighty warriors who stand in the path of the dragon's breath. No one sings songs of the humble priest who stood in the back and supported the others with the power of the Light. It's not a path to fame or riches. But it is a path to greatness."

"Without priests the alliance would be nothing. The Horde or the undead scourge would have overrun us years ago. It's only the power of the Light that holds them at bay. I can wield this power, as can other paladins, but you have devoted yourself wholly to it. You will gain a mastery of that power that I will never have. The feats and healing that you accomplished last night saved Edwynn and Brogan's lives, and you are just an apprentice. Imagine what you could have done if you were a fully trained priestess."

Myrista looked down at her feet. "I might have been able to save the manor. The DeTeems would probably still be alive."

"Stop it!" Mallet ordered in a forceful tone. "I've seen men drive themselves mad dwelling on the mistakes of the past. What's done is done. We have to look to the future now."

"I am thinking of the future uncle! I'm thinking about the next time those bandits decide to attack a house. I'm thinking of the next family that's going to get massacred. I can't stand feeling so helpless. I need to do something about it."

"You will do something, Myrista. You'll go to school and you'll study. Hard. You'll grow strong."

Myrista threw back her hair in frustration. "But it takes so long! You're going to need my help now!"

"I'll be fine. And you need to learn patience. Now come on. No more talk of this. Lets get some food and some sleep. You know the gnomes have installed hot water pipes in this inn. Tomorrow we'll take you to the cathedral and see about getting this business taken care of."

Myrista pressed her lips together tightly. It was obvious that her uncle would not change his mind. She resolved to stop arguing about it. She knew that he could not search for Mythril and keep an eye on her at the same time. She just had to play along, and wait for the right moment.

As they crossed from the stable to the inn, Myrista's mind retraced the events of the previous night. The bandits had been so brazen, so confident in their attack against the manor. They had known in advance that she was a priestess, and had a gag waiting for her as soon as she was captured. But they had not been afraid of her. No one was afraid of a healer. No one was afraid of the Light.

But there were other aspects of being a priest. More advanced magics, which were not taught to apprentices. Everything stuck by light casts a shadow. And in the shadows there were many things to be afraid of.


	17. Card Tricks

Chapter 17 – Card Tricks

Brogan discovered that in a city with as many learned people as Stormwind, there were still some mysteries. Mysteries such as 'What kind of meat is that' or 'is that even cooked?' It amazed him that many vendors did not make the food they sold, but instead acted as a sort of third party to the chefs themselves. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it didn't quite feel right thinking that whoever made a meal didn't have the confidence to hang around and see if anyone choked on it.

The trade district catered to a thousand tastes. Weapons and armor shops stood across from apothecaries and fishmongers. Criers hawked their wares with a seemingly infinite amount of cleaver slogans or cheap tricks. Glowing steel swords were displayed prominently. Their sellers professed that the blades were capable of slaying dragons, but Brogan recognized their cheap enchantments. Back in Dalaron an apprentice could make them glow any color they wanted.

In a bit of a nook between two such shops Brogan spotted the real deal. Two burly guards in full plate armor stood on either side of a slender man standing behind a booth. On the table in front of him were five solitary swords. They looked heavily used, and if it wasn't for the extra security, Brogan would have been tempted to dismiss the shop completely. Curiosity took the best of him and he approached the booth.

One of the guards stepped forward.

"Move along, youth. You've got no business here." The dwarf had a thick accent and smelled of coal.

"How do you know I won't buy one of those?" Brogan pointed to one of the swords. It was a sinister, twisted blade with a warped edge.

"A Krol blade?" You?" The dwarf laughed heartily. His friend joined him and even the shopkeeper smiled somewhat. "Lad, no offense, but our customers don't wear… that." The guard gestured to Brogan's cloths. The warlock felt his face burning. His cloths were brand new. Sure the pants were a little wide at the waist, and his ankles were a little breezy, but otherwise it might have been the best set he'd worn since he arrived in Northshire.

"Maybe I'm shopping for a friend." Brogan defended weakly. The dwarves laughed even harder.

"I hope your friend is rich, boy." The narrow-faced shopkeeper smiled with mirth. Bidding for the Krol blade is already at three hundred gold."

Broagn's heart skipped a beat and his jaw dropped. The howling laughter of the dwarves fell on deaf ears. He could see that the man was completely serious.

"How…" Brogan stammered. "You could buy the abbey. By the shadow you could buy all of Northshire for that much money!"

"What good are lands or wealth to a lord when his only son is on the front lines in Altrec Valley, or he must lead an expedition to explore the ruins of Silithus. This sword contains magic of a truly epic power. It can make mortal men heroes, and heroes into gods. Who cares about money? You can't take it with you. But if you were to die in Stratholme and arise as a thrall of the Lich King, you would still have this sword. Thank you for your time boy. Now move along."

Brogan backed out of the alley, accidentally stepping on an old woman's foot in the process. He stumbled through the crowd and found his way to an outhouse. This one was one of gnomish design, and had running water in both the sink and the toilet. Once inside, he locked the door.

In the privacy of the stall Brogan dropped his disguise incantation. Once again his skin blackened. In the small mirror he could see the reflection of his glowing red eyes. The disguise needed to be refreshed every hour or so, and you had to remove the old spell completely in order to create a new one. The others accepted his excuses about a bad breakfast or a weak bladder, but he knew they were aware of the truth. Mallet's words about not hating him were encouraging, but the paladin had not actually seen him transform into his demon form yet. Once the old man saw Brogan's affliction, he would probably react differently.

Brogan chanted the words to the disguise spell. It created a prickly sensation, like a blanket being pulled across his skin. His hands returned to their original color. He wondered if he could adjust the spell somewhat, to make him look taller or more muscular. The magic was simple, and he felt only slightly depleted after casting it. Back at the bandit stronghold, Brogan had worked other, more power spells. They had left him feeling drained and shaken. His father had often spoken of the mystic energy within all spellcasters. He called it mana, and a wizard drew his spellpower from it like water from a well. Once empty, only time and rest could restore it. This was the primary weakness of all magic-using creatures. A weakness that cleaver opponents could easily exploit.

With his spell renewed, Brogan stepped out of the stall and back amongst the crowd of the bazaar. The light was fading, and sow as the crowd. Shopkeepers were beginning to tally their daily gains and close up their stalls. He quickly purchased a bread bowl of potato soup and a wedge of Stormwind Bree. He enjoyed it on a quiet bench, and then started to walk back to the Guilded Rose. On the way he treated himself to a bright red fruit drink he had never heard of before. Something from Stranglethorn Vale.

As he passed a small table with a robed figure seated behind a deck of cards, he heard a voice cry out to him.

"You there! You are lost. A compass without a needle. A ship without a star. You drift upon the ocean with no sail or rudder. You are drawn by the current towards a bottomless abyss. Seek my council if you would find your way."

Brogan rolled his eyes in mirth. How many others had this soothsayer snared with his verbal charm. "Sorry old man, my parents were real wizards."

"Then you already know the power of the cards!" The robed figure's hand tapped the top of the deck. "These cards were blessed by Anachronos himself! They never fail."

"Of course they don't." Brogan could not help but smile cynically.

"You doubt my powers? Challenge them then! Sit down and I will show you."

"I don't have any money."

"We both know that's not true, but it's hardly important. It is your lack of faith that offends me so. You call me fraud and shame me in my place of business. I am Rasu! My family was once the seers to the greatest kings of the Arathor line. My father was cast out of Stormwind for speaking against Medivh nearly forty years ago. I will not stand for such slander."

"I didn't say."

"Enough words!" The man held up his hand. "Action must be taken. I will draw six cards. Three for your past, three for your future. I will show you your past. You will then apologize to me."

"Sure I will." Brogan couldn't help but find the prophet's perseverance amusing. "And might I ask how much this will cost?"

"Your past is your own. I can charge you nothing for it. The future is mine to reveal, and for a price of my choosing." Rasu picked up the deck and began removing some of the cards.

"What? We're not playing with a full deck?"

"I remove the minor arcana for a simple reading such as this." Rasu then shuffled the remaining cards and dealt six of them face down. Three in front of Brogan, and three in front of himself. He placed the deck down and put one finger on the card closest to Brogan. He then closed his eyes and his voice took on an odd tone, like someone telling stories around a campfire.

"This card shows the distant past. It shows events that shaped you long before today."

"Spare me the theatrics." Brogan smirked and sat down, sipping his fruity drink.

Rasu turned the first card over. It showed a tower with lightning striking the top and burning people jumping from the windows. "I see that some great calamity occurred in your youth. Alas, with the war, I have seen this card too often. But it is good that we see it here, since no card can appear twice."

Brogan wasn't listening however. He was transfixed by the image on the card. Whatever artist had painted this deck must have lived in Dalaron. The tower's sandstone coloring and dome-shaped crown were exactly like the tower of the Kirin Tor in Brogan's home city. The resemblance was more than uncanny, it _was_ the tower. After the city had fallen, Brogan heard stories about how the demons had destroyed that tower first, using powerful magics beyond the wizard's understanding.

"Are you alright young man?" Rasu asked.

"I'm fine." Brogan realized that he had been staring. Unpleasent memories of the journey to Northshire in his youth, as well has the dream this morning came to his mind. "Just do the next one."

"This card will show you your more recent past." Rasu flipped the middle card. It showed a regal woman sitting in a chair. Just then an insect buzzed into Brogan's ear. The boy yelped in surprise and jerked his hand, spilling his drink. The ruby liquid sloshed across the table and splashed onto the card.

"Dammit boy! These cards are my life!" Rasu dabbed the card with his shirt sleeve. The juice and the rubbing served to smear the ink. As Rasu placed the card back Brogan's eyes grew wide. The juice had dissolved the woman's facial features completely. Now she looked exactly the same a Balba'yorn.

"That's impossible." Brogan stuttered. "It's just a coincidence…"

"Eh?" The soothsayer looked up from his cleaning. Greed gleamed in his eyes. "I told you, didn't I. I would show you three cards and you would apologize to me. The card of the high priestess represents a spiritual woman. Someone in your past who helped shape your soul."

"Shut up!" Brogan was getting angry. It was a hoax. A put-on. "Show me the last card!"

"Indeed." It was Rasu who was smiling now. He knew he had hooked the young man. He placed a finger on the last card. "This card represents the recent past. The events of the last few days, or perhaps even hours. It may not have happened to you. Perhaps someone close to you…"

"Just show it to me!"

Rasu flipped the card. As he looked at it, his eyebrows came together. "That's not right…" he muttered to himself. Then he glanced up at Brogan. The boy's face was pale as ash. His eyes were transfixed to the final card.

"Er… yes." Rasu began. "There is no need to be alarmed. The cards should not be taken literally. The card of the demon represents our own demonic natures. Greed and self indulgence often play a part in our…"

But Brogan wasn't paying attention. The image was a fat, ugly, goat-headed demon with tiny bat wings. But what transfixed the boy was the background. Behind the creature were two humans, one male and one female. They were each chained at the neck like slaves. The demon held the chains in its left hand. Somehow some of the red juice had landed on this card as well. It pooled just above the male slave's eyes, forming an odd shape that almost looked like smoke.

A woman began laughing then. Brogan spun in his chair. About ten feet away a mother and her child were walking. The child was making a funny face and the woman was laughing. But it sounded just like her. Just like Balba'yorn.

"You see…" Rasu started.

"You're right." Brogan was trembling. "You're absolutely right. It's real. Your cards have the power of divination. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever doubted you."

"Of course." Rasu seemed a little taken back by Brogan's enthusiasm. "But I am gracious man, and a forgiving one. I shall…"

"How much?"

"Eh?"

"The future." Brogan was shaking. "The next three cards. How much to see them?"

"Ahhh." Rasu smiled. "Well let's see. These cards will show you the action you must take to fulfill your destiny. I did a reading for Mor'Laiden of Raven Hill just before he left for the war. He didn't listen to my advice and look where he ended up. My skills are quite valuable…"

Brogan dug into his pocket and slammed his coins onto the table. "Take it."

"It's a gold. Per card."

Brogan lifted his hand. Twelve silver pieces remained behind.

Rasu frowned. "One gold for all of them then."

"Twelve silver."

"Listen boy. Perhaps you're new in town. My price goes down, but yours has to come up."

"It's all I have."

"Then that's too bad. I can't be seen doing business this cheaply. Word gets around. It would ruin me."

Brogan made a grab for the face down cards. Rasu was faster. He slapped Brogan's hands and pinned them down against the table.

Rasu hissed under his breath. "Listen kid, don't get so worked up."

"You don't understand. I have to see them!"

"Alright." Rasu glanced around to make sure no one could hear them. "Fine, I'll take your money. Just calm down."

Brogan slumped back in his chair. Rasu swept the silver into his pocket. He then placed his finger over the left most card. Now that he had Brogan's money his enthusiasm waned.

"This first card will show the near feature. Possibly minutes away. A day at most." He turned the card over, revealing the image of a man hanging upside-down from a tree by one ankle.

"That's odd…" Rasu muttered.

"Why? What does it mean?"

"It was supposed to be…" Rasu stopped and stared at Brogan's trembling hands. "Look, kid. You've gotta calm down. You're starting to get me worked up."

"Just tell me what's going to happen! Am I going to get lynched or something?"

"Huh? No don't be silly. The image is just a metaphor. The hanged man is someone who sees the world from a different point of view. He has a skewed perspective. He's an outcast, but he's happier because of it. See. Just look at his face." Brogan glanced down and sure enough, the card showed the man's expression was one of serenity and calm.

"You're going to meet someone who thinks differently. Someone who acts contrary to the norm. This person will have a profound effect on your future."

"Will he help me?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. The card just says that you'll meet him. Or her."

"Well how come the last three were so specific, and this one's so vague?"

Rasu scowled at Brogan. "Okay that's it. Kid, you're really starting to piss me off, okay. Listen, you were the one who said your parents were from Dalaron. And we've all had a woman in our past, so that's a gimmie. You're obviously new in town, so the last card was supposed to be the Fool. My fingers must've slipped when I shuffled…"

"It's a con…?"

Rasu's look of pity and disbelief was utterly humiliating. "Of _course_ it's a con, boy! What would a real soothsayer be doing in this dump. Look kid, times are bad. People need hope. They need to see that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. And they'll pay to see it. So what if the cards are a scam. People see what they want to see. Just like you did."

Brogan felt tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. How could he be so stupid? He had known Rasu was a fake the instant he laid eyes on him. But he was so lost. So desperate to believe there was someone who could show him which way to go that he had started jumping at shadows. He lowered his head in shame. There on the table laid the High Priestess card. The smudged ink have the hint of her features leering at him.

A cackling woman's laughter filled the air again. Brogan started in the chair. It _was_ her voice. He stood up and spun around, but the disembodied voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.

"Lothar's ghost kid, what's got you so spooked?"

"Do you hear it?" Brogan asked. "That laughter, it sounds like a woman."

Rasu pointed over their heads to an open windows on the second floor of the house across the street. "That's just Helga the wench. One of her customers probably dropped his trousers and showed her his equipment."

"No. It'sher! She's watching." Brogan looked down at the faceless card. The laughter seemed to grow louder. "Turn over the next card."

"I already said it's a hoax kid."

"And I already paid! Turn it over!"

Rasu said nothing. He just shrugged his shoulders and placed a finger on the middle card. "The 5th card is the most important one. This card represents the path. The course of action that you must follow that will lead you to the last card, your destiny."

Rasu flipped the card. A pale horse carried as skeletal reaper across a desolate landscape.

"Death?" Brogan asked. "I have to die? Or kill someone? Who? The hanging man?"

But it was Rasu's turn to tremble silently. "No…no…no…" he muttered.

"What's wrong?"

"I always take Death out of the deck. It's bad for business. Nobody likes to see it." Rasu grabbed the pile of discarded cards and began flipping through them. After a couple of cards he dropped the deck like it stung him and jumped to his feet. The cards scattered across the cobblestone street.

On top of the pile, face up, was death.

"I thought no card could appear twice." Brogan asked. "You have more than one death in the deck?"

"No! I don't!" Rasu stepped away from the table. "Father told me this would happen. He said if I used the cards for personal gain Anachronos would know. The aspect of time would be displeased. He could curse with the cards, and now the curse is on me!"

Female laughter again filled the air. Brogan glanced up at the wench's window, but the sounds did not seem to be coming from there. The voice echoed and became distorted. The warlock glanced at the table. The last card lay there, face down. It would reveal the final outcome of all of this. He reached for it.

"Stop!" Rasu swept forward at the final tarot. "You mustn't finish the reading. It could spell my doom!"

Both men grabbed the card at the same time. Rasu pulled and Brogan fell forward onto the table, but didn't release his prey.

"Let me see it!" The boy cried.

"It's too dangerous. My soul is at steak! I won't let you!"

The two men struggled loudly. Passerby's stopped and stared. Brogan grew angrier and more frustrated. Balba'yorn's laughter seemed even louder now, and was pressing down on him from all sides.

"Let go!" Rasu yelled.

"I have to see it! Give it to me!"

Brogan was never quite sure what happened next. The frustration, anger, and humiliation of the day had been building up more and more. Without warning he felt it rushing out of him. Suddenly every street lantern for fifty paces exploded. Fire and old rained down onto Stormwind's streets. People started screaming and running in every direction.

The first lantern to burst was directly over their heads. Rasu fell back, his shirt beginning to catch fire. Brogan released the card and stumbled away from him. The woman's laughter was louder than ever, sounding directly in his ears now. The flames seemed to spread with supernatural speed and engulfed Rasu's body. He screamed and tried desperately to put his cloths out. He stumbled and fell to the ground near the table.

Purely by instinct Brogan rushed forward to help him. The final card, still in Rasu's hand, was forgotten in the chaos. Brogan began trying to pat the flames out with his own hands. The fire touched his skin and was hot, but not painfully so. But his hands did nothing to stop the blaze.

"You can save him." Balba'yorn's voice taunted him.

"What? How?"

"A warlock commands flame and chaos. I will tell you the words to save his life. And it won't even cost you…much."

A sickness filled Brogan's gut. He could feel the demoness laughing at his soul. Before him the soothsayer flailed in agony as his skin began melting. Balba'yorn began speaking demonic words. Brogan repeated them, fear of the consequences outweighed by his immediate need.

At his command the fires leapt and danced off of Rasu's body. They flowed like a serpent across the scattered tarot cards and onto the table where Brogan's fortune was cast. The yellow tongues swirled into a vortex, changing color to a deep purple. As Brogan spoke the last word, the fires collapsed onto the third card, the demon.

Rasu moaned in pain. His skin was running off his arms and hands like hot cheese. Brogan withdrew in disgust. It would have been a mercy to kill him. He moaned something and lifted his hand. The final card was still grasped in his fingers. The top half was destroyed, and the bottom was charred to reveal almost nothing.

A piercing scream echoed through the air. A woman cried out and pointed to the table. There, the demon card held only an empty background. Standing above it was a fat, goat faced monstrosity. A minature demon, nearly two feet tall. It smiled at the screaming, terrified crowd and then looked at Brogan.

"You summoned me master?"


	18. Terms of Employment

Chapter 18 – Terms of Employment

The imp's grin split its face from ear to ear. "So boss, what can I kill for you today?"

Brogan felt his stomach lurch. He had summoned a demon. In Stormwind. In front of dozens of people. Brogan's sense of horror was overwhelmed only by his self-loathing. This thing was one of the monsters that had killed his parents, as well as hundreds of thousands of other people. The demons had created the undead scourge. The demons had corrupted the orcs. A demon had forced him to take the blood pact.

'_And now a demon is loose and it's my fault._'

The tiny creature snickered with glee and barely contained mischief. It scanned around and noticed Rasu at the foot of the table. Playfully it bounded down and examined his charred form.

"Wow boss, you really messed this guy up. What'd he do, sleep with your girl or something?"

Brogan made a choking noise. Fear and loathing were rapidly being replaced by hatred.

"Hey master, this guys in a lot of pain. Want me to help him out?"

Rasu groaned and stretched out his hand towards Brogan. The warlock nodded without thinking.

"Sure thing boss." And with that the imp hopped forward, grabbed Rasu's head, and in a single move twisted it backwards.

Brogan's cry of horror was surpassed by someone else's. The same woman who had cried out before was now shrieking in panic. The little monster smiled at her. Clapping its hands together, it created a ball of fire from nothing. "Looks like there are lots of people who need my help." It then threw the ball at a nearby clothing stall. The demonic flame exploded, spreading like a living creature until the entire shop was on fire. In the blink of an eye the demon threw again and again. Two more shops vanished into flames.

"Stop it!" Brogan screamed,

"Why boss? This is fun!" The demon hopped around impatiently looking for another target.

Brogan knelt next to Rasu 's dead body. The warlock took the charred card from the corpse's hand. "You little beast! You killed him!"

"Only 'cause you told me to! Look, he was dying anyway. I did him a favor."

Brogan's rage overtook him. He reached out for the creature, but it hopped away. "Aww, come on chief. Don't be like that. Think of all the fun we can have together."

"I'll kill you!"

"Not today you won't." The creature pointed up the street. Guards had begun pushing their way through the crowd. The imp smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Wahoo! Moving targets!"

The warlock didn't care. He pointed his finger at the demon and uttered a curse. The little beast yelped and finally stopped laughing. "Look boss, this was not in my contract." Brogan cast another spell and the demon snarled at him. "Nice try boss. Now let me teach you a thing or two about magic!"

The imp vanished, only to reappear above him in Helga's second story window. From there it tossed a fireball down at Brogan. The spell hit him in the arm, setting his shirt sleeve on fire but not harming his magical skin. Brogan ignored his burning clothes and had begun casting yet another spell when a city guard tackled him. The big man in heavy armor bore him to the ground.

"That's him!" The woman cried out. "That's the man who summoned the demon!"

Overhead the imp was cackling with laughter. "Hey boss, looks like you're in trouble. Want me to give you a ha..uurk!"

The demon spasmed and froze in place. Glowing green mystic energy held it immobilized. The very skin of the creature seemed to become transparent.

"I've got him." The guards pulled Brogan to his feet. "Don't try to escape, warlock! Quick, bind his hands and gag him!"

"That won't be necessary."

The crowd parted and a man in wizard's robes appeared. He wore maroon clothes, with golden-red hair and a goatee that matched the sky before sunset. He looked to be about forty winters old. In his right hand was a withered staff reinforced with silver banding. Gaunt features and pale skin framed eyes so brown they were almost black. The wizard stepped into the center of the bazaar and extended his hands. All of the various fires around the plaza flared and suddenly went out, including Brogan's shirt. It became very dark then. The sun had descended behind the western mountains about twenty minutes before.

"Thank you for your aid wizard. We captured the warlock, but his pet would have…"

"Silence!" The wizard held his hand up and immediately the guard stopped speaking. The red haired man stared intently at Brogan's eyes. Then he spoke words in another language, the language of the demons. "You seem to be both bold and stupid, tool of the Legion." By their looks the guards obviously could not understand what he said.

Brogan concentrated for a second. The demonic words came to him. "Please." He begged. "You have to help me."

"Oh?" The wizard raised one eyebrow. He considered for a second, then switched back to the human language and spoke to the guards. "Release my apprentice."

"Your apprentice?" the guard holding Brogan seemed confused.

"Yes, now release him. We must work together to banish this abomination. My holding spell will break soon, and we will all be in very real danger. At once, if you please."

The guard turned to look for someone in the crowd.

"Don't wait for permission, do as I say!" The wizard roared angrily. The guard immediately released Brogan, who stepped up next to the spellcaster.

"Stand back" the older man waved his staff at the guards. "You may disrupt the ritual if you are too close." He then turned his back to them and faced the demon. Brogan leaned close to him and whispered in the demonic tongue. "Thank you."

"Shut up, you fool." The gaunt faced wizard replied in the same language. His gaze was fixed on the demon. "Did you summon that imp?"

"er... yes."

"Then all you must do is dismiss it. Quickly, before my spell breaks."

"I don't know how."

"You don't know how!" The wizard roared with anger and smashed Brogan in the head with his staff. The blow was powerful, sending Brogan to his knees. "How could anyone be so stupid as to show a boy your age how to summon this beast, and not reveal the incantations of dismissal? Who is your master boy? The coven does not take kindly to those who endanger our cause!"

"I… I don't have a master."

"Liar!" The wizard swung his staff again. Brogan raised his arm to defend himself and the staff struck his wounded left hand. Pain shot up from Brogan's fingers, and he cried out in anguish.

"Who taught you the words boy? And don't lie to me, I'll know!"

"Her name was Balba'yorn. She's one of them!"

The wizards drew in his breath at the woman's name. He then turned back to the imp. The pulsing green light around it suddenly faded, and the creature broke free of it's bindings with a feral cry. Immediately the wizard threw out his hand and spoke a single word. There was a crack like thunder and the imp fell lifeless from the window. Its body plummeted through the air and caught fire as it did. The remains that landed on the street burned brightly for a second, and then vanished leaving only a rancid smell and a dark spot on the pavement.

As he rose to his feet Brogan stared at the cobblestone where the body should be. "Is it dead?"

"We should be so lucky." The wizard answered. "Demons are not _of_ this world. So it is exceedingly difficult to destroy them here. Their essence will often escape when their physical bodies are destroyed. That is why it's so important to draw a shard from them when they are about to die."

"A shard?" Brogan asked in confusion.

"Impossible!" The wizard swung his staff and again smashed it into Brogan's skull. This time the boy fell to the street like a rag doll. He cried in pain and clutched his head.

"Now see here!" The guard approached! "Master wizard, I appreciate your assistance, but I can't stand by and watch you beat this boy!"

"Stand aside, footman. You know nothing of what has transpired here! My useless excuse for an apprentice has put the entire city in danger. For you see that man…" the wizard pointed at Rasu's charred corpse. "That man has been consorting with demons!"

A mass of gasps and cries came from the crowd. "That's not true!" One of the shopkeepers shouted. "I've known Rasu all my life. He hated magic."

The wizard turned to answer him. "Of course he did. That is because this is not Rasu. The Rasu you know died days ago. This is a magical doppelganger. A demon in disguise. It has the power to speak and look like its victim. It was sent to scout the population of Stormwind and find those among you whose faith in the Light and the Alliance is weak. Then it would offer you jewels or power in return for your souls. My apprentice discovered this. But rather than report back to me like he should have, he attempted to confront the creature alone. It is a good thing I arrived when I did."

"Indeed." The guard moved towards Brogan. "Are you alright boy?" The warlock only groaned in response.

"I will take him home and see that he recovers."

"I'm sorry, master wizard." The guard interrupted. "I need to ask him some questions first."

Just then one of the charred storefronts groaned and gave way. Timber and dust flew everywhere. The guard ran towards the collapse, temporarily forgetting the spellcasters. The wizard grabbed Brogan's remaining shirt sleeve and hauled him to his feet.

"Move. Quickly. If they catch you you'll be strung up from the gallows before dawn!" The wizard pushed Brogan towards the opposite side of the bazaar. Soon they reached the edge of the onlookers, who parted as they approached. Behind them were masses of commoners who had just arrived to see what all the commotion was about. The wizard shoved Brogan forward and after half a minute they were though the crowd and moving under the archway towards the canal.

"Wait..." Brogan muttered as he rubbed his aching head. "Where are we going? My inn is the other way."

The wizard half chuckled and brought him to a pier at the edge of the canal. The waterways separated the city's neighborhoods, and were designed to allow for easy defense against enemies. In times of relative peace boat owners could do brisk business offering transport to weary shoppers, or renting their crafts out to young couples for scenic rides. The wizard hailed once such skiff over to the dock.

"Stop." Brogan attempted to pull his sleeve away, but the wizard's grip was too strong. "I have friends waiting for me."

"Not anymore you don't." The wizard pulled Brogan towards the boat. "Harry, it's me. You know where to take us. Make it fast and quiet and I'll double your rate."

Anger welled up in Brogan. "I can make you release me." He threatened.

The wizard turned and locked eyes with him. "Oh, do you really think so? That imp was the weakest of the Legion's agents, and he made you out to be the fool. You're lucky it thought you were more entertaining alive than dead, because it was about to make short work of you."

"I'm going home."

"You don't have a home anymore. Not in this city. Don't you get it? A man is dead. People saw you summoning that demon. The lies I told the guards will only confuse them for a moment. They will be searching for you, and that amateur disguise spell won't hold up to real scrutiny."

Brogan took a step back. "You can see me? I mean… the real me?"

"Yes. Now get in the boat!" the wizard was loosing patience.

"Why?"

"Because I can free you from Balba'yorn."

Brogan froze. He felt as though his whole world was suddenly standing on its head. Feelings of humiliation from only moments ago floated to mind. '_I'm desperate for any sign of a way out. Does this wizard know that? Can he read my mind?'_

"How do I know I can trust you?"

The wizard released Brogan's sleeve, only to grab his left hand. He pressed his thumb down hard onto the freshly wrapped wound, and then released it.

"When someone swears the blood pact, they sacrifice a portion of their flesh as a sign of fealty to the powers of the Twisting Nether. The wound is magical. It will never heal, never fade. And no magic can hid it for long. It is how we can know each other." The wizard grabbed the neckline of his robe. Pulling down he revealed a narrow scar just below his right collar bone. Even in the fading light Brogan could see it was red and raw, but the skin near the edges had scarred over. It was almost as though the same wound had reopened again and again for years.

"You're a warlock?"

"Say it a little louder, idiot!" The wizard swore and practically threw Brogan into the boat. The younger warlock staggered and sat abruptly in his seat. The elder one pressed some coins into Henry the boatman's hands and they shoved off. As they moved away from the bank, the robed man muttered under his breath. Darkness seemed to rise from the waters and in seconds the city on both sides vanished.

"Your pursuers won't be able to follow us now. Of course, there will be an investigation into the death, there always is. What a disaster. A merchant killed in broad daylight by a demon, right here in the heart of Stormwind. Dammit boy, there's going to be hell to pay."

Brogan said nothing. He merely held his throbbing head with his aching hand and stared at the man with ferocious distain. The wizard matched his gaze for a moment, then turned and looked out into the darkness. The sounds of the city and groans of the till were the only noises. It was oddly relaxing. Brogan felt some of his anxieties slip away and he reflected a bit on the events of the last half hour.

"I suppose I should thank you." Brogan said after a while. "You saved my life. Even if you did beat me."

"Thanking me is the least you could do boy." The man reached into his pocket and withdrew a wooden pipe. He began stuffing it with dark weed. "And as for the violence I will not apologize. I cannot stand stupidity, and you seem to be quite stupid."

Brogan ignored the insult. "I guess we should introduce ourselves. My name is Brogan. I'm…"

"Shut up!" The wizard dropped his pipe and half-rose from his seat like he was about to hit Brogan. "Fool boy, you really don't know anything do you? NEVER tell ANYONE your birth name! EVER! There is power in true names. Demons can control you and through you everyone around you. Your true name is the last barrier to your soul, and once they have that, you'll be nothing more than their puppet. You must protect your name at all costs.

Brogan said nothing. He sat there, his face burning with shame. The wizard's features softened somewhat, but his black eyes retained their harsh look.

"I have a nephew in Westfall. My sister's son. He's an idiot, who doesn't know when he's in trouble so deep that he'll never get out. You remind me of him. His name is Farlsworth, so that's what I'll call you. You can call me Gakin."

"Gakin." Brogan repeated. "That's your false name?"

"One of many." He replied. "It's useful to have several names, considering the business we do."

"You mean being warlocks."

"You don't approve of warlocks, Farlsworth?"

Brogan scowled at that name. He didn't like it. "Warlocks are evil."

"Probably shouldn't have become one then."

"I didn't have a choice!" Brogan growled. This guy was starting to remind him of Mythril.

"Your kind seldom do."

"What do you mean 'your kind'?"

"Felsworn. Covenless warlocks." Gakin reached down and picked up the pipe he dropped. "The burning legion is constantly seeking new soldiers to fight their wars for them. They probe our dreams the way wolves watch a flock of sheep. They seek out people who are sensitive enough to hear them, preferably once with weak wills who are easy to control."

"Are you saying I'm easy to control? You have no idea what I've been through."

"Think not? How's this sound? Demons will often try to manipulate felsworn into situations where you accomplish their goals for them. They destroy your homes. They distance you from your family and friends. They give you a taste if power and promise you an easy way to get something that was previously beyond your reach. They place you in dangerous situations where you are forced to depend on their aid to survive. And all the while they're subtly removing all your emotional supports. In the end, you'll be alone, with no one to trust except the voice in your head. The voice that feeds off your fear and despair. Any of this sound familiar?"

Brogan sat in silence at his end of the skiff. About half a minute went by while Gakin's words began to sink in. The elder warlock placed the pipe in his mouth. He then sucked in the air and the pipe magically lit itself. He took a long drag, and exhaled slowly.

"Don't be too hard on yourself Farlsworth. You've still got your soul, I can see that. And you're not alone anymore. The coven will be able to help you. We can teach you wards that will protect your thoughts from prying eyes, and offer some small respite from the demon's manipulations. We can give you the tools you to protect your soul."

"I thought…" Brogan paused as he tried to phrase his words correctly. "I thought all warlocks worked for the demons. That you are all on the side of the Legion."

Gakin chuckled and took a long drag off his pipe. "Nobody hates demons more than warlocks, Farlsworth. Well, maybe the elves do. But no one is better at fighting them than we are. That's why the king allows us to stay here."

"The king knows there are warlocks in Stormwind?"

Gakin nodded. It's a secret, and a tightly kept one. The night elves would probably go to war with us if they knew. Lordaeron too. But this kingdom has been ravaged more by the Horde than by the Burning Legion. Some of the nobles have convinced the king that Ogrimmar is more immediate threat than an army of monsters from another dimension. But we needed spies. So a small group of mages offered to defect in order to gain knowledge of the enemy. And it's been working rather well. Our coven had probably destroyed more demons in the last five years than Aegwynn did in the last fifty."

Brogan didn't say anything. He didn't know who Aegwynn was but he was tired of looking stupid in front of Gakin. They rode in silence for a while more. Brogan noticed that he head didn't hurt anymore. Probably because of his magical skin.

"So the king trusts the Coven?" Brogan said at last.

"Of course not. And with good reason. We're talking about people who consort with demons after all. Never trust a warlock Farlsworth, even myself. Always assume we're trying to use you as a tool for our own ends. That's the way demons think. The sooner you start thinking that way, the longer you'll live."

"If warlocks don't trust each other, why form a coven?"

"Mutual protection. Shared resources. It's a brotherhood of convenience. Our alliance with the demons gives us power that most men only dream of. Power to take what we want by brute force or by subtle manipulation. Once you know the desires within a man's heart you can trust that man to do what's in his best interest."

"Sounds like trying to walk in a pit of vipers."

Gakin laughed. "Ironically people in the coven are surprisingly honest, if somewhat rude. Everyone knows everyone else is out to further his own power, so why waste time lying about it. Things work a lot faster if you just cut to the chase."

"So what does that say about us? You and me? How does bringing me to the coven help you?"

Gakin smiled. "So you're not completely stupid. That's good. Well, there are two reasons. The first is that we can't let covenless felsworn wander the streets of Stormwind summoning imps and causing havoc. It's bad for business, so to speak. It just so happens that it's my responsibility to report the coven's activities to the powers that be. So having you off the street makes my life easier."

"That makes sense. What's the second reason?"

"I'll tell you in just a second." Gakin pointed ahead of them. The magical darkness surrounding the skiff gave way to real darkness as the boat entered an archway. Torches lined the walls, and after several minutes they still had not emerged into the moonlight. The sounds of the till seemed to close in on them and Brogan had the impression of being deep below the city.

"Where are we?" Brogan asked. He was whispering, but still his voice seemed to echo in the darkness.

"Below the mage district. This is where we can meet in safety. There are several entrances. I'll show you the one in the Slaughtered Lamb. That's the easiest one for initiates."

Brogan felt an unnatural cold in addition to the tunnel's dank atmosphere. The Slaughtered Lamb was where Balba'yorn had wanted him to go. Yet Gakin said the warlocks here were fighting against the demons. He also said not to trust him. How can you tell if a man is lying to you when he tells you not to trust him? Brogan was confused. Everything was suddenly upside down.

The image of the hanging man flashed in his mind. Rasu's words seemed to echo from the darkness. "_He sees the world from a skewed perspective. He's an outcast, but he's happier because of it._" Brogan looked at Gakin.

He then remembered the next card. Death.

More torchlight appeared and the entrance rose until the skiff entered a small cave. A tiny dock and stairs occupied the far end of the chamber. Several figures in black robes waited there.

"So yes, Farlsworth. To answer your question: the second reason I'm helping you is simple. The demon you mentioned, Balba'yorn, is of great interest to us. Particularly to our leader, Necrodamus.

In that instant everything in Brogan's life became crystal clear. The reason a demon would send him to a coven of demon fighters was standing right there on the docks. Necrodamus was taller than the other warlocks, and wore a brilliant ruby around his neck, probably to mark his rank as their leader. He wasn't as broad shouldered as his brother, or as fine featured as his daughter, but Nicholas Crownguard did have his family's piercing blue eyes.

'_And I know his birth name._' Brogan swallowed.

Somewhere in the night, a woman's laughter echoed though the streets.


	19. The Network

Chapter 19 - The Network.

After the orcs had sacked Stormwind thirty years ago, the Horde occupied the ruined city for several years. They kept human slaves for labor, and used the city as a base of operations as they crushed the remaining resistance before the war moved north to Kaz Modan. When the city was finally liberated, only a handful of buildings remained. The new city was designed outward from these structures. These buildings still stood today, and were called Old Town by Stormwind's modern inhabitants. It was little more than a slum, where the city's poor congregated and the guards rarely traveled.

"But I'm telling you, Mathias Shaw is expecting me."

"And I'm telling you that you're not coming in through this door."

Edwynn ground his teeth in frustration. He had been able to find the house of Mathias Shaw easily enough. It was one of the few structures in Old Town that had glass in the windows. Located next to the city garrison, the building's proximity to the only concentration of guards in the neighborhood probably had something to do with how well kept the structure was. That and the privately paid sentries standing near the door.

"This is important! I have to give him a report!"

"Sure you do, kid." Only one of the guards was doing all the talking. He was young and muscular, but not bulky. Exactly the type of person you did not want to fight. His partner was the first and only gnome Edwynn had ever seen. She sat on a nearby box, silently watching the exchange and occasionally scanning up and down the street to insure Edwynn wasn't acting as a diversion for someone else. Both guards were armed with short swords. Stairs rose up behind the two to a wooden door that looked as though it hadn't been opened in months. A third guard stood in the shadows near that door. His or her features were completely obscured behind a black mask. Only a powerful looking crossbow identified him as a sentry. That weapon had never stopped pointing at Edwynn for a second.

"You're not even giving me a chance." Edwynn ran his hand through his hair. "Jorik sent me to see the network!"

"What network?" There was a gleam of amusement in the guard's eye.

"THE network! You know... the one that Shaw runs. The one that operates out of this building."

"Uh huh." The sentry looked Edwynn up and down. "Let me guess. You want to join up?"

"Actually, I'm already doing work for them. For you, that is. Important work, that Shaw needs to know about."

"Sure you are. What's the password?"

Edwynn blinked several times. Jorik didn't say anything about a password. He hadn't said anything about sentries either. "Uh... password. Sure... Er... can you give me a hint?"

"You want a hint kid?" the gnome spoke up for the first time. "Look around you. See these buildings? This neighborhood? These people? They're starving. They're desperate and dangerous. Some of them would kill for a meal. So if people saw there was work to be found here, they'd be lined up around the corner."

Edwynn opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. The gnome's words rattled around in his head. He was being stupid. What was he doing? He was trying to get in to see the leader of a secret organization of spies and thieves. And how was he doing it? By trying to walk in the front door. Of course they weren't going to just let him in.

"There is no password." Edwynn said at last.

"Right-o" The sentry smiled. "Do you know the secret handshake?"

"There is no secret handshake."

"Right again. And do you know why there is no password and no secret handshake?"

Edwynn chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Because... there is no network?"

"Bullseye! Now if there was a network, and it did operate out of this building, I'm sure they wouldn't want just any old cutpurse walking in off the street, would they? We're not the thieves guild you know. We've got standards. We demand agility, perception, and subtlety. And my orders are very specific. No one gets in through this door. Period."

Edwynn looked up at the house. Three stories tall, with lots of windows and a gently sloping roof. At least two derelict buildings were crammed against its sides, each one two stories tall. Edwynn felt like an idiot.

"You're right. Sorry to trouble you. I'll just be going on my way now..."

"Just a moment." The figure with the crossbow spoke for the first time. It was a woman, but with a very deep voice. She stepped forward from the shadows and slowly descended the stairs. She moved with a superhuman grace. Her cloths hid the lines of her figure but Edwynn got the impression of a powerful physique. The rogue noticed that the other two sentries were backing away from her with worried looks on their faces. She stopped about five feet away. Edwynn got a closer look at her eyes. They were orange-red, and seemed to be glowing slightly. The olive-green skin across the bridge of her nose was barely visible.

"By the Light!" Edwynn blurted out. "You're an orc!"

"Half-orc, actually." She lowered the crossbow very slightly. "Who did you say sent you?"

"My mentor, Jorik,"

"Jorik Kerridan? Son of Jacob Kerridan?"

"Uh... I don't know his father's name."

"Your mentor you say... Interesting." the half-orc glanced at the the two sentries. The human and the gnome seemed extremely uncomfortable. The woman lowered the crossbow, but Edwynn felt certain that she could kill him with it at a moment's notice.

"Tell me, Jorik Kerridan's disciple. What is your name?"

"Edwynn DeTemms."

"That's enough, assassin!" The human sentry stepped forward. "Leave him be. The boy is here on Network business, not Syndicate."

"You mean... she's not part of the Network?" Edwynn asked.

"No." The half-orc responded. "I work freelance. You should too, if you know what's good for you. The money's better, and you get to choose your assignments."

The gnome muttered under her breath. "Not that anyone would ever hire her again after what happened last time she was here."

The half-orc shot a dark look at the gnome. Her grip tightened on the crossbow. The gnome's hand dropped to her short sword.

"You should get going, Edwynn DeTemms." The green-skinned woman said calmly. "As you can see, tensions are high since my employer arrived. I'd hate for you to get caught up in a...misunderstanding."

Edwynn began stepping away slowly. The stand off showed no sign of letting up.

About thirty paces away he spotted a narrow side alley. He stepped into it and out of sight of the sentries. He then crept through the shadows around to the back of the building.

The back of Shaw's mansion was against the thick outer wall of Stormwind, but the alley did bring him to the rear of the building next to it. That building appeared to have been empty for years. Edwynn crept into an abandoned apartment that reeked of vomit and human filth. Inside he found stairs up to the second level. A couple minutes searching rewarded him with a bedroom that had a narrow balcony. The rogue climbed outside, up a drain, and onto the roof.

Shaw's house had three windows facing his position. Two had glass panes, with curtains drawn and some light peeking out from inside. The third, on the right, was dark and actually had the glass window open. Edwynn stared at it in awe.

'_No way does a spymaster leave his windows open. It has to be a trap._'

Edwynn waited a moment while he pondered the two remaining windows. After some time, the light seeping out of the center one was broken by someone moving around.

'_One open and empty looking. One guarded. And the third..._' Edwynn crept forward to the leftmost window. A gap in the curtains showed him what appeared to be a posh bedroom. Immediately opposite the window was a dresser with a jewelry box lying open. A string of pearls was spilling over the side.

'_What do they thick I'm a complete idiot?_' Edwynn backed away to consider his options. It was obvious now that all three windows were traps. It was just a matter of choosing which trap to confront. The young rogue chewed his lip for a moment.

'_Time to make my own luck._' Edwynn ran towards the windows. At the last second he jumped and scrambled up the wall and onto the roof of Shaw's building.

The top of the building offered Edwynn a spectacular view of the city. To the south was the trade district, where Mallet, Myrista, and Brogan were probably wondering where he was. Beyond that a thick white wizard's tower rose over the mage district. To the west soot and coal dust hung over the dwarven district, casting the light of the recently set sun in a deep purple hue. Just south of the dwarven district was the beautiful Cathedral of Light. White stone and glass spires rose to tower over the city. But even these paled in comparison to Stormwind Keep to the North. Words failed to describe the beauty and majesty of the castle. Battlements and towers dominated the sky. Occasionally griffons could be seen flying in and out of certain balconies, carrying rich or important passengers to various points in the alliance.

Shaw's house had an observatory. The single-room tower with a cone-shaped ceiling had broad glass windows facing each direction. Edwynn approached it and found it unguarded. Having just avoided three obvious traps, he felt safe in his decision to enter from this direction.

Sliding one of the narrow throwing knives along the window's edge, the rogue managed to catch the latch and pull the glass pane open. As quietly as possible, he slipped inside and closed the window behind him. The observatory was empty, and only a single spiral staircase functioned as an exit. Having no real alternative, Edwynn descended.

Oil lanterns dotted the walls every eight feet or so. The staircase was narrow, and would be difficult to fight in. This worried Edwynn no small amount. Luckily no one seemed interested in getting a view of the city at this hour. The stairs ended at a hallway with several doors on each side. Three doors on his right were each placed about as far apart as the windows had been. He assumed that each one lead to one of the trapped rooms he had avoided. Three lanterns, one next to each door, provided the light. Two doors on his left were closed, and could contain anything.

'_It's a gauntlet._' He realized suddenly. '_Designed to test would-be members. The sentries below would know if someone was going to come in here. That must mean I'm being watched right now. But where would my observer be?_'

Edwynn crouched low and listened. At first he heard nothing except his own racing heart. But after a couple minutes he thought he heard a rough scrape or cough. It came from nearby. The rogue looked and saw that the bricks of the wall nearest the staircase lined up oddly.

'_A secret door? Most likely to a hidden hallway. It probably runs parallel to this one so whoever is in it can observe what I'm doing. So how would they see me?_'

Edwynn looked carefully along the wall. At irregular intervals, about at waste height, small holes could be seen. They were cleverly designed to look like water damage, or warping in the wood's coloring.

'_Okay, so they hide in the hallway and watch. And when they want to ambush me, they come in through the secret door. So what I need to do is..._'

As fast as possible Edwynn darted to the closest lantern. He flung it open and blew it out with a sharp breath. He then sprang to the second and repeated the process. On his way to the last lamp he was satisfied to hear a scrambling within the wall. He blew out the last lamp just in time to see a faint light, probably from a candle, coming through the eyeholes. It lasted maybe two seconds before someone extinguished it.

'_Now we're both in the dark. But whoever is watching doesn't know that I know where the secret door is._' Edwynn moved back to the spiral staircase. Whoever was in the wall had probably been caught unawares and was now moving towards the door.

Edwynn felt his foot bump into the first stair just as he heard the faint creek of a door opening. A gentle draft could be felt that wasn't there before. His opponent probably thought he was still near the third lamp, and not at the stairs. Hopefully the enemy would enter with his back to him. He drew his pearl-handled dagger.

Edwynn held his breath and waited for any tell-tale sign of his observer. A creak, a noise, anything. Whoever was there had either not moved at all, or was so silent that he couldn't hear them. He continued to wait. Still nothing. Seconds passed, then a full minute. It was agonizing. Somehow his enemy could move in perfect silence. That was the only explanation. He had lost his advantage, he was sure.

Just as he gave up he heard a frustrated exhalation. It was barely two feet away. There was a shuffling and the sound of metal scraping. A spark silhouetted a figure, followed by a second spark, and then dim candlelight. His opponent was right in front of him, facing away.

Edwynn rushed forward. He grabbed the figure's hair and placed his blade to the back of his neck.

"Gotcha!" Edwynn whispered. "Don't move or my blade might slip."

"Funny." Came a strange voice from behind Edwynn as cold steel met his own neck. "I was about to say the same thing."

"Not too bad. Not too bad at all."

Mathias Shaw was shorter than Edwynn expected, with dark hair and hard grey eyes. Edwynn wasn't really certain what he expected a man who ran a network of intelligence gathering and spies to look like. He was dressed in comfortable black cloths that were loose fitting without restraining movement. He carried no visible weapon and seemed perfectly at ease, probably because of the presence of his bodyguard.

Renzik "The Shiv" was an evil looking goblin. Edwynn didn't know much about goblins, except that they were crafty traders who took business matters very very seriously. The creature had huge ears and a massive hooked nose. Its hair and cloths were surprisingly well groomed. It was this monster that had captured Edwynn. The tiny green figure was surprisingly strong, and carried an aura of lethality.

After ambushing him in the hallway, the goblin had taken Edwynn's weapon and brought him via the secret hallway into the main hall of the Network's headquarters. From there they were shown into a large office. Shaw's office. Edwynn had imaged a room full of swords, knives, or other instruments of death. He was quite surprised to find was appeared to be a small library. Books, maps, and scrolls lined the walls. Here the spymaster had been waiting for them.

"So Edwynn, what do you think of S.I.7?"

"S.I.7?" The young rogue asked.

"That's what we call our headquarters. You did pretty good getting in here. To be frank, anyone who tries the windows is usually killed and their bodies disposed of. If you're not smart enough to try the roof, we don't want you. Not too many think to assault out agents though. Most figure out they're being watched, and just try to impress us."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your man."

"Osborne? Oh, he's fine. But very few recruits ever get the drop on him. There will be repercussions, of course. I'm putting Osborne in charge of your training, along with the Doctor. I expect you will progress quickly under their tutelage."

"Training? So you're letting me join?"

"Letting you?" Mathias chuckled somewhat. "Edwynn, consider yourself drafted. We need good operatives desperately. Your friend Brogan is going to need all the help he can get."

"Brogan? So you already know about the book, and Balba'yorn."

"Not all of it. We're going to need you to fill in some of the blanks." Shaw tapped a small bell on his desk. Seconds later the door opened and a very attractive, if somewhat bookwormish, young lady entered.

"Mrs. Sloan McCoy, I would like you to meet Edwynn DeTemms. Agent DeTemms, as of this moment. We'll need a transcription of the events he witnessed yesterday and today. Immediately after that we'll start his training."

"How do you do?" Edwynn extended his hand in friendship. The girl just looked at him, and he blushed and dropped it. Then he jolted and turned back to Shaw. "Wait a sec... immediately?"

"Yes. As soon as we're done here actually."

"But my friends are waiting for me back at the inn. I should let them know where..."

Shaw cut him off. "Events are moving quickly, and there's little time for etiquette. Your friend Brogan was in town less than an hour before he killed a man and set fire to part of the bazaar. The local warlock coven has him now."

"By the Light!" Edwynn couldn't believe it. "What happened? Is he alright?"

"We think so, for the moment. The leader of the Coven calls himself Necrodamus. He is a difficult man to predict. I doubt he'll harm your friend, but make no mistake; he's in very real danger. That's why we need to get you up to speed quickly before..."

There was a loud bang from beyond the door. Instantly Shaw was on his feet, a sword in his hand from seemingly nowhere. Sloan had her back to the wall and a vial of some ugly yellow liquid in her hand. "The Shiv" tossed Edwynn's pearl handled dagger to him so quickly that the rogue only caught it by reflex. A second later the goblin was gone. Vanished completely into thin air.

The bang came a second time and the office door flew open. A human stood there. A nobleman by his attire. He bore a cruel and contemptuous expression. Behind him stood the half-orc from outside. She was still bundled tightly and carried her crossbow. The nobleman entered with a swagger.

"Mathias, you lied to me!" The noble glanced first at Sloan, and then at Edwynn. He stared at the young rogue and seemed to be absorbing every detail of his appearance. "This is the boy, is it not? You were hiding him from me."

Shaw relaxed visibly and sheathed his sword. "As I'm sure you're aware Aliden, Mr. DeTemms has only just arrived. I was not hiding him from you."

The nobleman growled. "You will address me as King Perenolde."

"King?" Shaw's eyebrows rose. "Getting a little ahead of ourselves aren't we? I think the Crushridge Ogres would have something to say about who rules your kingdom."

"Don't test me Shaw." Perenolde responded. "Lady Prestor has promised me troops to reclaim my birthright. It's only a matter of time before I take back what is rightfully mine. Then there will be a reckoning against my enemies."

"If the Syndicate spent more time reclaiming Altrec and less time trying to steal Stromgrade from Lord Trollbane, you wouldn't need our troops."

Aliden Perenolde's face grew darkened. Behind him the half-orc seemed amused by her employer's discomfort. "Enough of this!" Perenolde turned to Edwynn. "Where's Jorik?"

Edwynn blinked in shock. Who was this man? What did he want with the stablemaster? Edwynn glanced at Shaw. They spymaster's face was blank. He probably wanted to see how Edwynn would react. Sloan looked tense, and the goblin was nowhere to be seen.

"I... I'm not really sure." Edwynn stated.

"You're lying!" Perenolde sneered.

"No, it's the truth. I saw him this morning in Goldshire, but he said he was leaving. He didn't tell me where he was going. What do you want with him anyway?"

"What do I..?" Perenolde stammered. The noble leaned in close. "Don't you know who I am boy?"

'_Someone in need of a shower?_' came to his mind, but Edwynn held his tongue.

"I'm Aliden Perenolde. Son of Aiden Perenolde and heir to the kingdom of Altrec. Jacob Kerridan lied to the alliance and falsified evidence that my father had sided with the orcs."

Edwynn glanced at the green-skinned bodyguard. "I can't imagine where he got that idea."

If Perenolde heard the slight, he ignored it. "Jorik's father is responsible for the fall of my kingdom and my father's death. I will have my revenge."

"All you have is a small band of thieves and brigands." Shaw interrupted. "The only reason you're able to step foot in Stormwind is because you're more trouble to the Horde than you are to us."

The prince sneered at the spymaster. "Lady Prestor sees our value."

"Lady Prestor does not rule Stormwind. Both Jorik and Edwynn serve the interests of the crown. They are under my protection."

"I'll bet they are." Perenolde turned to leave. As he reached the door, he paused. "Who is in charge of the boy's training?"

Shaw seemed confused by the question. "Osborne, the Night Man."

"Not good enough." Perenolde muttered. "You should give him to Romano."

Now Shaw looked very perplexed. "I reserve Lord Tony Romano for our very best students, not that it's any concern of yours."

"Oh, but it _is_ a concern of mine. For you see, I want young Mr. DeTemms to receive the very best your kingdom has to offer. He needs to become Stormwind's finest agent. He needs to make he mentor proud."

Aliden Perenolde looked back over his shoulder and grinned wickedly at Edwynn. "And when the young man reaches the peak of his abilities, I will send Garona here after him. She'll kill him, and deliver his severed head to Jorik. Kerridan has no children of his own, you see. I want the old man to suffer before I execute him personally!"


	20. The Demon Hunter

Chapter 20 - The Demon Hunter

"Myrista? Child are you decent? Wake up!"

Her uncle's pounding at the door woke Myrista with a start. She blinked and shook her head to clear it. Where was she? Where was Brogan? Hew was just here. Or was that a dream?

The pounding came again, somewhat more insistent. Myrista sat up and looked around. Her room at the Gilded Rose was small but comfortable. Pale light leaked past her curtains. The sun had not yet risen. She was alone, with only the narrow bed and a small vanity for company. She had been so exhausted last night that she had fallen asleep in her cloths.

"Er... come in Uncle."

The door opened quickly and Mallet entered. His appearance drove away all remains of sleep from her mind. The paladin looked like he hadn't slept all night. He was wearing his full plate mail armor. Silver-edged steel with gauntlets, boots, and enormous shoulder pads. His face looked grim

"Uncle, what's happened?"

"Neither boy came back last night. You were falling asleep in your cider, so I sent you to bed around midnight, and I stayed up until three before going out looking for them. I went to old town first, to try and find Edwynn. You can't set foot on that side of the canal without seeing a dozen folk who need the Light's aid. I should have worn my armor. That way my appearance would have commanded a little more respect. I almost had trouble a couple of times, but they backed off when they saw I was a paladin. I finally found someone who had seen Edwynn entering a house at the south end of town. There were guards outside, and they seemed to be expecting me. A man named Osborne told me that Edwynn would be staying there for the foreseeable future, and they that would send someone around for his things in the morning."

"Send someone? What's going on?"

Mallet sighed. He took the chair by the dresser and turned it backwards and sat in it. He folded his arms across the chair's back. "Every man must choose his own path, child. One of the most difficult lessons life teaches us is that the path of righteousness is not for everyone. Edwynn has made his choice. He has thrown in his lot with a den of thieves, liars, and murderers."

"No! That can't be true! Edwynn said he was going to work for Stormwind as a spy!"

"What do you think spies do, Myrista?" Mallet's face was somehow sympathetic and harsh at the same time. "The king insists that he needs those black hearted brigands to do his dirty work, and I am not so naive as to believe that is not true. Stormwind has many enemies. Some cannot be fought with lances, swords, or even wizards. But I have seen what they teach at this so-called Network. They teach you how to poison, and how to stab a man in the back.

"Uncle, please! I've known Edwynn since I was ten years old. He's a good person. Besides, it can't be all that bad. You're a soldier. You're trained to kill."

"It's not the same. Soldiers depend on each other to survive. When a squire wishes to become a paladin, the Order of the Silver Hand will look within them for certain qualities. They must have compassion, and be prepared to step forward and defend those less able to defend themselves. A paladin is trained to fight battles not for his own glory, but instead to aid those that fight with him. Always we must be prepared to forgo an attack and instead heal a wounded comrade. That is what it means to be a Knight of the Silver Hand.

"Myrista, rogues are honor less bastards. They know only two things: how to steal and how to murder. On the field of battle they are only good at sneaking around behind someone and sliding a knife between their ribs. That's no way for a warrior to die. Honor demands that you challenge your foe head-on, and allow them to surrender. The very idea that the king would allow men to be trained to fight in such a deceitful fashion turns my stomach. There is no honor in it. Even the Orcs understand that."

Myrista shook her head in confusion. "What good is honor to someone who's dead? What cares how men kill each other as long as you are alive in the end?"

"Honor is everything! Honor is the one thing, the ONLY thing, that can never be taken from you. You can destroy a man's home, steal his property, drive away his family and friends, or defeat him in combat. But no one can steal another man's honor. No one. The rich cannot buy honor. The mighty cannot take it by force of arms. The wise cannot learn it in a book. Honor comes from within. It is how you live your life everyday. Your honor defines you.

"Child, no man is immortal. We all pass on sooner or later. Even the memory of our deeds eventually fades away. Did we live our lives with honor? It is that, and nothing else, that matters in the end.

Myrista closed her eyes and slowly blew out her breath into her hair. She didn't understand honor, and she doubted she ever would. Honor didn't buy food for the hungry, or offer solace to the families of men who had died in war. Knights and warriors might believe in honorable combat, but she could certainly see the advantage of winning a victory using all necessary means. Rules were for games of cards and dice, not for the battlefield where men's lives were at steak. But it didn't matter; there were more important things to worry about.

"What about Brogan?"

"Aye, about that. Remember last night when that man came in saying he thought part of the bazaar was on fire? By the time I got back from old town the city guard was prowling every inch of the trade district. They were looking for a young wizard who matched Brogan's appearance exactly."

"What did they want with him?"

"I'm not sure. Something horrible had happened. Apparently they had caught him but he slipped away and now the city guard is out for blood. They questioned me for two-thirds of an hour before they let me come back to the inn."

"Uncle, did you tell them you knew him?"

Mallet's face became quite solemn. "We are here to redeem Brogan, not condemn him. It pains me to think the local constables would not work with us. But the fire in the eyes of the men I met last night reminded me too much of the Scarlet Crusade. They did not want justice, they wanted revenge. If they caught Brogan, he would be hung first and tried second, and nothing an old man like me could say would make any difference."

"We can't give up on him!"

"Oh, we're not going to. But it is unlikely that the two of us will find him before a hundred city officers do. Instead, I think it's time I put some of this reputation of mine to work. Let's get you to the cathedral, and then I'll go find the truth of what happened last night.

"I want to come with you."

Mallet took a deep breath. "Myrista, I'm not your father, but..."

"No uncle, listen to me. Brogan and Edwynn are my friends. It was my decision to let Mythril stay at the manor, and it's my fault the Defias attacked. Those boys risked their lives to rescue me from the bandits. It's the least I can do to see what they're accusing Brogan of. Besides, I..." Myrista stopped and blushed for a moment. She seemed about to say something, and then changed her mind. "If I was missing, I think they would both come looking for me."

"I'm sorry Myrista. I..."

"Please, Sir Mallius! It's very important to me!"

In that instant his sixteen year old niece was forever severed from the memory of the pigtailed little girl who made him tell her war stories until she fell asleep. Mallet felt his iron resolve that had withstood dragon's fire melt before the watery eyes of a young girl worried about her friends.

"Alright. But I don't know how long this will take. We will do what we can, but if the bells strike noon and we haven't found him, then I'm taking you to the cathedral if I have to bind you hand and foot to do it."

Wearing his full armor and riding astride Star, Mallius Crownguard looked every bit the storybook hero that the fireside tales of Northshire made him out to be. He trotted his charger proudly towards the bazaar, drawing stares and comments from all sides. Myrista rode behind her uncle's saddle, and was shocked to hear that not all the comments from the crowd were complementary. Distain filled looks came from certain people. Others grabbed their children and pulled them away rapidly.

"Uncle..." Myrista commented. "Some of the people seem afraid of you."

"Big man on a big horse. Wouldn't you be afraid?" Mallet's words sounded like a jest, but his voice carried only sadness. "Paladins are not thought of as we used to be. I fear Prince Arthas and the Scarlet Crusade have permanently damaged our reputation."

"You mentioned the Scarlet Crusade before. Who are they?"

"Zealots. Citizens of Lorderon mostly, who've lost everything to the Scourge conquests of those lands. Many are former paladins and priests that feel that our first duty is to punish evil. They twist the meaning of the Light, and use it to burn their enemies. I have seen what passes for justice in Hearthglen, and I do not care for it."

"But the Light should be used to punish evil and burn the wicked."

"Aye, but that is not our first duty. Always the priority should be to protect the weak and heal the injured. Otherwise, the line between the virtuous and the wicked grows unclear."

The priestess said nothing, her uncle's words weighing heavily on her mind. They rode through the crowd without speaking for a while before Myrista asked a question. "Are they powerful?"

"Who? The Scarlet Crusade? They are quite powerful."

At that point they arrived at the south end of the bazaar. The cobblestones here were blacked and covered with in soot and ash. Several shops were demolished and everywhere shattered glass from broken streetlamps could be seen.

"You there!" Mallet called out to a nearby guard. "Who's in charge here?"

"Who's asking?" an armored knight on a brown stallion turned to answer them. His rank insignia marked him as a general.

"By the grace of the Light, Marcus Jonathan! I haven't seen you since the second war. I had heard Fordragon made you a general."

The knight's eyes narrowed as he studied Mallet's face. "Crownguard, is that you? I didn't recognize you without a bag of dice in your hand or a supply train to guard."

Mallet's mood cooled instantly. "That was uncalled for, Marcus."

"Was it? And call me general when you address me, knight." The general trotted his horse over until his stallion was standing alongside the paladin's mount.

"I'm retired now, general."

"Indeed? Or were you asked to leave? I'm certain the Order of the Silver Hand has little room for knights who disobey orders."

Mallet straightened slightly. "Ah, it's about that, is it? That was a long time ago. The Order understands that men's lives should not be thrown away to satisfy some lordling's ego. That tower was too well defended, and my men were exhausted."

"That was for Trollbane to decide. "_Esarus thar no'Darador'_" By blood and honor we serve, Mallius. If the Duke said you had the strength to take the tower than you should have done it."

"Duke Trollbane led from the rear."

"Trollbane was a master strategist, which is more than anyone can say for you. I should add that is takes a special skill to fight through three wars and live long enough to retire. I think it's called 'cowardice.'

A swift intake of breath was Mallet's only response. The two men stared at each other, a silent hatred flowing between them.

"Why are you here, Crownguard?" The general asked.

Mallet choose his words carefully. "A member of my party went missing last night. We had just arrived from Goldshire and he was new to the city. My niece and I are looking for him now."

"I see." Marcus's eyes noticed Myrista for the first time and dismissed her instantly. "Well, even if you are a poor soldier, you are no traitor. Nor can I believe you would associate with one. The city was attacked last night. A warlock apparently was haggling over the price of some service and summoned a demon, who killed a merchant and began burning the bazzar. A wizard arrived, killed the demon, and stole off with the warlock. We're looking for them now."

"I can aid you with that." Mallet offered. "I tracked dozens of demons and death knights during the wars."

"That won't be necessary." Marcus trotted his horse around so that Mallet faced his back. "Even if you were a more reliable soldier, we have no need for you. We already have a 'demon expert.'

Mallet was about to ask what that meant when Myrista gasped and clutched his arm. Mallet followed her gaze. Twenty paces away a cluster of guards stood around two Night Elves.

"That's her." Myrista whispered to her uncle. "That's Mythril."

The druid looked very different from the last time Myrista had seen her. Her leather outfit was new, and dyed a deep green to contrast sharply with her purple skin. She wore a cloak which looked like it was composed of living leaves. Once again she bore no visible weapon, but her companion more than made up for it.

If Mythril was tall, the male Night Elf beside her was positively enormous. He was over eight feet tall, and his body was probably over six hundred pounds of solid muscle. He wore only blackened pants of an odd leather that Mallet recognized as the hide of a felstalker. His skin was a lighter shade of purple than the druid's, and covered with old scars. In each hand two exotic double-edged sword blades arced from odd hilts that he carried. The Night Elf was barefoot and bare-chested. Perhaps the oddest thing about him however was that he wore a blindfold over his eyes.

"Uncle, who is that?"

"I'm not certain. I... I think it's Illidan."

"Don't be ridiculous," Marcus Jonathan scoffed. "Illidan Stormrage is dead or at least fled to Outland. That is Colberthas, the demon hunter."

The General had not said the name loudly, but somehow the Night Elf heard. Colberthas turned towards them. Mythril had been speaking to a couple of guards, but also turned to follow his sightless gaze. Her starlight filled eyes met Myrista's. The female then turned to her companion and said something. The two began to approach.

Myrista's grip on Mallet's arm tightened. How much had Mythril told them? The general did not seem to like her uncle very much. If he discovered that they had brought a warlock to Stormwind would he hold them responsible for all of this destruction?

"Well ambassador, have you discovered anything?" The general spoke to Mythril, but his comments seemed meant for the demon hunter. The druid began speaking to Colberthas in the odd Night Elf language. At first it seemed like she was translating for him, but she continued at length for several moments. The demon hunter said nothing. After a while Mythril turned and addresses Myrista.

"Lady Crownguard, it is agreeable to see you again so soon. I am sorry we had to part on such sudden terms."

"What's this?" General Jonathan turned to Mallet. "You know each other?"

"Sir Mallius and I have never met, your eminence." the druid interjected before anyone else could speak. "However, his niece was kind enough to allow me to stay at their home on my journey to Stormwind. Her hospitality was most generous, and I owe her and her household a great debt."

"It is good to finally meet you." Mallet's tone was even, his mood unreadable. "After what happened to my house I..."

"Please good sir," Myrista held up her hand and cut him off quickly. "Let us not bore our associates with personal matters. We can discuss such things after we conclude the pressing business of what happened here last night." She turned to Marcus. "Your eminence, Colberthas has learned much about what has transpired. There were at least two warlocks at work here."

"Two you say?" the general looked grim. If he heard Myrista's gasp of surprise, he ignored it.

"Yes. Each spell caster leaves a unique mark when he calls the magic. It can be detected and tracked by those who have the proper skills. There is also evidence of a more powerful demonic influence. A powerful entity, possibly even a lieutenant of the Burning Legion, has been at work here."

Myrista puzzled at what Mythril was saying. It sounded like the druid was talking about Balba'yorn, but if so, why didn't the elf speak of the demon by name. Could it be that she was afraid her own involvement would be discovered?

General Jonathan set his jaw. "You said you can track the warlocks?"

Again Mythril answered quickly. "We must continue the investigation for a while longer. But yes, we should be able to find them if they are still within Stormwind. However, these are dire portents your eminence. I cannot stress enough how important it would be to inform your superiors of our discoveries.

"Indeed." Jonathan turned his horse around and faced Mallet once again. "As you can see old man, these are dangerous times. I hope your friend has not been snatched up bu the evil ones to become a sacrifice for the dark powers. But as you can see we have the situation well in hand and do not require your aid. And as for you young lady, I suggest you find yourself a more capable bodyguard. Your uncle is long past his prime. You would be better off hiring a gnomish tinker than a cowardly grandfather looking for once more chance to reclaim his lost glory."

"Damn you Marcus!" Mallet's hand dropped to his hammer.

"What?" The general's own hand fell to his sword hilt. "Are you calling me a liar, knight? Was I not a witness at your court-martial? Were you not stripped down to corporal and removed from command because of your failure? Your cowardice jeopardized the entire expedition, and I will be lost to the Twisting Neither before I let anyone forget about it!"

With that the general drove his spurs into his horse's flank and rode off in the direction of the castle, leaving the two Crownguards with the Night Elves.

"Uncle, I don't care if he's a general or not. How could you let him say those things about you?" Myrista's face burned from embarrassment. Looking around, she saw several of the Stormwind guards muttering to each other and casting dirty looks in their direction.

"Because they were true, Myrista." Mallet's voice was full of pain, and for the first time he seemed old in his daughter's eyes. Before anything more could be said, he turned to Mythril. "You have something of mine."

"I beg your pardon?" The druid seemed simultaneously startled and offended.

"I am in no mood to dance at words with you, elf. The book belongs to me. You stole it yesterday and..."

"You stink." The demon hunter said unexpectedly.

"What?" Mallet replied in shock.

"You heard me." The sightless warrior's voice was deep and hollow. "You reek of the Legion's filth. You both do." He turned his head slightly to address Myrista as well. "You have been in his presence, I can smell it. I should cut you down where you stand. My blades thirst for the blood of the unclean. But your taint is trivial compared to these dark wizards. Their stench permeates everything. They are nested deep within the city's bowels like a cancer. I will carve them out. And if that fails, I will burn this city and everyone in it to the ground."

The Crownguards were speechless. Mythril said something in their own language. Colberthas spat on the ground before answering. "You think I jest Queren? They are only humans. It was humans who allowed Sargaras to enter the world. It was humans that summoned Archamode. They are weak. They deserve our pity, not our protection. And do not imagine that I am not aware of your own involvement in this. When the warlocks are dead, you will answer to the Circle or you will answer to my swords!" And with that he turned abruptly and strode off through the crowd and into the city.

There was a moment of silence before Mythril spoke to the humans. "I am sorry Lady Crownguard. I fear my hubris in bringing the codex to Stormwind may cause your city vast harm."

"He's completely serious, isn't he." Mallet gazed after the demon hunter.

"About destroying Stormwind? Yes. And your knights and wizards would be hard pressed to stop him. Colberthas and those like him saw Illidan Stormrage as a great hero during the War of the Ancients. In the thousands of years that followed many attempted to retrace his rise to power. Colberthas slew a doomguard, drank its blood, and burned out his own eyes to further his lust. He is more demon then the creatures he hunts, but the Circle tolerates him because he has never failed them. Now that he knows there are warlocks in Stormwind, he will not sleep until he has killed them all."

"But it can't be true can it?" Myrista asked. "Brogan couldn't have actually summoned a demon. And he would never kill anyone."

"He killed several of the bandits easily enough. But there is some doubt about what happened here. There are many eyewitnesses, and their accounts are conflicting. One reputable man swears that the demon and the boy were fighting each other. But fear has given way to anger, and I have little doubt that the truth will have no bearing on the outcome if Brogan is caught."

"I want the codex back, Mythril." Mallet said grimly.

"For what purpose, sir knight?"

"I'm going to take Brogan and this demon book to the Cathedral. High Priest Benedictus will know how to break the curse and restore the boy."

Mythril lowered her voice. "Brogan has sworn the pact. He cannot be saved. It would be a mercy to kill him now before he damns himself further."

"I won't subscribe to your interpretation of events. A young man's soul is on the line."

"I am sorry. It is out of my hands now." Mythril's words carried a deep sadness and her ears drooped significantly.

"What's wrong?" Myrista asked. "What have you done with the book?"

"I gave it to the Cenarion Circle. In my desperation I thought our leader here in Stormwind would be able to destroy it instantly. Alas, this was not true. We summoned Colberthas to destroy the book, but Balba'yorn's influence is more subtle and more devious than I could have foreseen. No sooner had the demon hunter arrived than a rider from the castle appeared, screaming of warlocks and murder. Now the codex lies forgotten while we search for your friend. The Circle this is but a minor artifact, nothing to be seriously concerned about. They will not listen to my warnings about how powerful the demon is. And every second they delay the she-devil worms her way further and further into our leader's hearts. I was a fool to bring it here."

"Please, good lady." Mallet's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Give us the book. The bishop at the cathedral..."

"I am sorry, sir knight, but I do not trust that your priests have the power to resist the demon or destroy the book. Only Elune has the strength to confront this evil."

"You are making a mistake."

"It would not be the first time. My advice to you would be to abandon Brogan. The best anyone can hope for him is that Colberthas's blades end the boy's life swiftly. Good luck to you both." With that Mythril's form melted into the shape of a spotted jungle cat. The starry-eyed animal turned and raced away in the direction the demon hunter had gone.

"What now?"

"We go to the cathedral. I will see if Farthing has any influence over the Cenarion Circle. Perhaps he can persuade the elves to destroy the book, or allow us to discern if there is a way to sever its connection to Brogan."

Mallet pulled on Star's reigns and began to trot her towards the far side of Stormwind. After several minutes Myrista broached a question. "Uncle, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"What did you do that upset General Jonathan so."

Mallet sighed. "It was late in the second war. The alliance army was deep inside Draenor, far from the Dark Portal, and farther still from our homes and families. I lead a company on the front, consisting of paladins, elven archers, footmen, and a mage or two. Ner'Zhul was crafty, and he drew our main force farther and farther from our base at Hope's End. An army travels on its stomach, you see, and we were fed be food grown on captured orc farms or looted from conquered.

"After nearly two hundred leagues we arrived at the foot of the Shadowmoon fortress. It was then that Duke Trollbane gave a most bizarre order. He replaced half the knights and archers in my company with wounded footmen and peasants. He then ordered me to take the company and at dawn strike directly against the Shadowmoon clan's forward defenses. Two massive towers lined with cannons that were in perfect position to cover each other. It was the only pass to Ner'Zhul, and it had to be cleared if any assault against the fortress could succeed. My men would make the initial assault, followed by griffins, mages, and dwarven sappers. Heavy casualties were expected.

"But the morning of the attack, just before dawn, one of the other paladins, Grayson Shadowbreaker, came to me just as we were to march. He said that the griffins had been sent back to Hope's End, and were not to support our attack. I quickly rode to Trollbane's tent to see what had happened. As I was about to enter I heard him arguing with someone. It seemed that two days before we had learned that a raiding party from the Bleeding Hollow clan had swept in behind us and destroyed our farms and food supplies. We no longer had the resources to take the stronghold. We had enough food to feed a thousand men. To rebuild them would require precious weeks that our army didn't have. Trollbane had asked for a hundred new wizards and knights from Hope's End. But rather than put the new men on half-rations, he found a way to keep them well fed and battle ready by removing some unwanted mouths to feed. Those would be the men of my unit. It was a suicide mission.

Myrista's eyes were wide with horror. "By the Light, how could he?"

"The price of victory is measured in the currency of men's lives." Trollbane said that to my face when I barged into hi tent and confronted him. It was simple mathematics, really. Every day we spent on Draenor we lost hundreds of men to Orc raids or disease or the strange beasts that roamed that savage land. Trollbane's plan was brilliant, but heartless. It would bring the war to a close in days instead of months. In his mind the entire expeditionary force was already dead. He actually bragged that he hand-picked me for the assignment because I was popular with the men. I drank and gamed with the rank and file soldiers. Then that soulless bastard showed me my own eulogy, half-written right there on his desk. He had planned to read it to the men before the main assault. He said it would enflame their courage, and might even carry the day. Victory would be ours. All I had to do was have the decency to march a hundred half-dead men up that pass to their deaths."

Myrista was speechless. They moved in silence through the city. Then she asked "What did you do?"

A hint of mirth flashed behind the old man's blue eyes. "I crushed his staff sergeant's table with my hammer. It scared the piss out of his personal guard. One of them started screaming that Ner'Zhul warlocks had ensorceered me, and that I should be put down like a rabid dog. Luckily Grayson was there, and calmer heads prevailed. I was court-martialed, relieved of command, and busted down to corporal. But my actions that day shamed the Order of the Silver Hand. Uther himself stepped forward and volunteered to command my unit. He knew full well that he wasn't supposed to come back. But he was going anyway. We were at war, and Uther would do what needed to be done to win."

"Did Uther lead the mission?"

"No. My court-martial delayed us and that afternoon we received word that the main body of the Warsong clan was only a day's ride away. We were forced to withdraw and the war raged on for three more months. Weeks later Uther summoned me. The Duke had casually mentioned to him that, had my unit gone ahead with the attack, he still would have withdrawn. My actions and the resulting delay had saved the lives of a hundred cooks, lumberjacks, and wounded footmen. Men that Lord Trollbane didn't value. Uther told me that he admired my courage, and sense of ethics, but he feared I had no future in the military. And to a degree he was right."

Mallet pulled back on the reigns. They stood now in the grand forum before Stormwind's cathedral of Light. The building was beautiful, formed by the finest Stonemasons from glass and white marble. A line of petitioner's stretched out the front. Mallet looked at them and frowned.

"I will go inside and find the bishop. Wait here with Star." The paladin dismounted, straightened his armor and walked towards the grand doorway. The crowd parted for him and he disappeared inside.

Myrista slipped from Star's back and led the mount to a nearby bench. There she sat in the early morning sun and waited. After nearly half an hour of boredom a man sat down next to her.

"Hello" she said to the elderly gentleman.

"Hello to you." He replied. He was wearing a clergyman's robes, but it was red instead of black. "Are you here to join the order?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"You have the look of someone who wields the light, but you do not wear our robes."

"My apprentice robes were lost, but even so, they do not look like yours. What order are you from?"

"Oh, how rude of me." The old man blushed. "My name is Brother Crowley. I am from Lorderon. I have come to Stormwind to serve as ambassador from the Scarlet Crusade."

"Oh?" Myrista gasped. Her conversation with her uncle earlier flooded though her mind.

"Yes. And to answer your question Myrista Crownguard, yes, we are very powerful."

The priestess jumped to her feet. "How did you know..."

"...What you were thinking? It's a spell priests can learn, if they have the talent for it. And you seem quite talented young lady. Quite talented indeed. Tell me, would you like to learn how to be powerful?"


	21. Minions

Chapter 21 - Minions

"Come on Farlsworth, we don't have all night."

Brogan, now known to the coven as Farlsworth, cursed silently as he worked. He hated that name more and more with each passing day. If Gakin the Darkbinder even remembered Brogan's real name, he never used it. The elder warlock saw how uncomfortable it made him and smiled. Brogan learned quickly that the man drew genuine pleasure from making other people suffer. This probably had something to do with his chosen direction in life.

Gritting his teeth, Brogan pulled on the rigid iron wire in his hands. For days he had worked on the metal and gem incrusted bracers. He had smelted and hammered the material himself, as was required for the ritual. Working the material had been difficult, and Brogan had not liked it at all. Gakin had instructed him every step of the way, and had beaten him when he felt that the boy was moving too slowly. But Gakin was an excellent teacher. Before meeting him most of the spells Brogan had cast had been from instinct, or by blindly repeating words Balba'yorn had whispered to him. Gakin actually taught him what the demonic words meant. He had shown Brogan how to tap more of his body's mystical energy and, how to grasp more shadowy energy and cast it at his enemies. But most importantly Gakin had been teaching Brogan about demons. How to find them, how to fight them, and how to banish them.

And now, how to use them.

"No, you idiot. The sapphire has to be near the wrist. The emerald has to go there." Gakin raised his staff menacingly. Brogan flinched and hastily made the correction.

"Come now Gakin, you're being much too hard on the boy." A new voice emanated from the far side of the room. Brogan saw his instructor repress a shudder as Necrodamus entered from the doorway. Mallet's brother had a smooth deep voice that carried great confidence. He was accompanied by a beautiful young woman not much older than Myrista, with long black hair and cold eyes.

Brogan quickly turned back to his work. In the week that he had stayed underground at the coven, he had managed to avoid the leader of the warlocks. He had never met Myrista's father before, but the rumors surrounding his disappearance for Northshire nearly two years ago had given him a preliminary mental image. Those stories spoke of a haunted, hollow-cheeked man who drank constantly and was always muttering to himself. This man who was now approaching shared none of those characteristics. Necrodamus was tall, handsome, and certainly seemed to be in complete control of himself. The young woman at his side showed every sign of absolutely adoring him.

"Master, this is an unexpected honor." Brogan's instructor said to the coven's leader.

"You know that's not true, Gakin. This visit is long overdue." Necrodamus's voice carried a sinister undertone that Brogan did not like. "I have been busy of late dealing with events upon the surface. It seems that an old acquaintance of ours has recently come to Stormwind. He tells me that someone has placed a bounty on your new apprentice."

"On no..." Gakin muttered. "Not more bloody elven demon hunters?"

Necrodamus chuckled in amusement. "Thankfully no, however I must admit that keeping that infernal Night Elf from finding our sanctum is proving to be more difficult each day. I am afraid we will have to deal with both him and the city guard very soon. No, my friend confided in me that Farlsworth here is sought for something he did back in Northshire."

"Is that so?" the Darkbinder turned to Brogan. "Farlsworth, you didn't do something stupid like kill anyone before coming to the city did you?"

Brogan gulped loudly. "I.. I don't think so."

Necrodamus laughed loudly at that. "Oh no? They say you burned down two houses, and are responsible for a dozen murders, including a witch in the service of the Twilight Hammer."

"Oh, that." Brogan shuddered. He recalled how, when he first met Mallet, he had been afraid of what would happen if the paladin learned he was a warlock. Now he felt an eerily similar feeling about what would happen if Mallet's brother knew how much Brogan knew about his former identity. Would he order Brogan's death, or perhaps sacrifice him to a demon?

"Well?" Gakin roared. "Speak up boy! The leader asked you a question."

Necrodamus sighed. "Gakin, my dear friend, why don't you let me handle this?"

"Sire, please." Gakin raised his staff again. "This one is willful and in dire need of some discipline. I can loosen his tongue..."

"Gakin." Necrodamus barked the name and the Darkbinder's breath seemed to catch in his throat. The coven's leader turned to the black haired woman. "Surena, be a dear and escort Gakin here to the parlor. Bring him up to speed on the activities of the demon hunter. Thank you."

The young woman slipped aside and gestured for Brogan's instructor. Gakin fumed and slipped past them and out the door. The woman glanced to Necrodamus, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, before she walked out the door, closing it behind her.

"Women..." Necrodamus mused. He moved around so that he could examine Brogan's work. "They are amazing creatures, wouldn't you agree?"

"I.. um" Brogan felt himself being pressed by the dark wizard's piercing blue eyes. "I wouldn't know sir."

"Oh come now, don't be shy. Bashfulness does not become a man who's chosen a destiny as an evil, demon-summoning warlock."

Brogan unconsciously clenched his fists, twisting one of the bracer's thin silver bands. Luckily he checked himself before the damage was too severe. "It was never my intention to be a warlock."

"Of course not! No one sets out in life saying that he plans to kill and burn and barter the souls of others for power. But as we travel, life teaches us many lessons. And the first and most prominent one is that life is not fair." The warlock leader emphasized his point by poking the table with each word.

"Lets take you for example." Necrodamus continued. "Your parents were taken from you at an early age. They died defending a city from the forces of darkness. And was their valiant sacrifice rewarded? No. Dalaron fell and the corpses of your parents probably march with the lich-king's army even as we speak."

Brogan swallowed. He had always hoped his parents had somehow survived the destruction of Dalaron, and had never considered that they might have been reanimated to become Arthas's undead slaves.

The elder warlock went on. "And you. You are obviously of noble birth, and well educated. Did your classmates or instructors give you the respect that you deserved? Were you allowed to sit with the other noble born children? No. And weren't the girls of your school attracted to stronger, less intelligent, less worthy men? Was that fair? Of course not."

Brogan removed his hands from the bracer and placed them in his lap, lest he cause more damage. The dream had come again last night. A dream of Myrista lavishing him with praise and worship. He was convinced that it was the demon's subtle manipulation, but that didn't make it any less real.

"And then there was the voice. Her voice. It started as a quite whispering in the night. She promised you power, and glory, and riches. You knew she was evil, but you listened to her anyway. But why did she pick you? Why not someone else? Why did it have to be you who was forced to choose between death and taking the Pact. Like it's even really a choice."

"How... how do you know all this?"

"Because I was very much like you once. I too lived in Northshire. I had a wife, whom I loved more than all the world. When she was taken from me, I felt as though my beating heart was wrenched from my chest and cast into a cast abyss, never again to see the light of day. The emptiness and pain stretched on and on for years, and it would never end. Not while I was alive. That's when I heard her voice. The voice of Balba'yorn." Necrodamus looked down at Brogan then, and the boy felt the tiny amount of hope he had slip away.

"But you already know this story don't you, Brogan Maguskhaer?"

The boy swallowed hard. "Sir... My lord... I don't know what you're..."

"Stop." There was no magical enchantment in the command, just the raw force of his voice. But Brogan stopped speaking instantly.

"There are many secrets in the Coven young man, but none in this room. None between you and I. I know who you are just as you know who I am. It would seem to the untrained eye that fate's cruel barb has twisted again in both our lives. But this is not true. You and I have been brought together, not by chance, but by design."

Brogan's mind was reeling in confusion. "It was the demon. She had planned for us to meet?"

"Correct. Do you know why the warlock sanctum is located here, under the mage district of Stormwind? There is a conjunction of ley lines above us which allows the wizards of the Kirin Tor maintain their teleportation portals. A side effect of this is that mystic energies are too raw and unpredictable to allow most scrying magics. Demons cannot read our minds or penetrate our hearts here. In this place, one's dreams are one's own."

Internally Brogan let out a sigh of relief in regards to how his previous night's vision had been of natural creation, not artificial.

"For nearly two years, I have lived in this place." Necrodamus looked at the walls with undisguised hatred. "I have been trapped. A self-imposed prisoner. Waiting for her to give up. Waiting, and planning how to beat her. I needed her to move on. To find some other poor fool to seduce with her lies. And I was right. She found you. Someone she could empower. Someone who could go where she could not. And so she sent you here. To find me."

"Balba'yorn wanted me to kill you?" Brogan asked.

"Don't be foolish. You have nowhere near my power, and she knows that. You were merely supposed to flush me out into the open. She gave you my birth name, and cause to fear me. Then she sent you here so that you could give my name to the other warlocks. Men like Gakin, who would stop at nothing to kill me and seize control of the Coven. Rest assured if he had learned we were both from Northshire, he would have set your soul on fire to learn my name. Pray that you give him no reason to suspect you know it."

"Why does she want you dead?"

"Because I know her secret. Her real secret. Her one true weakness. I know Balba'yorn's true name."

"By the Light." Brogan muttered. With that you could..."

"Summon her? Control her? Yes. I may even be able to banish her from Azeroth permanently. But then she would be free to return to the Burning Legion. No, that is not what she's afraid of. She fears one thing, and one thing only."

"And what is that?"

Necrodamus smiled and reached beneath his cloak. He pulled out a large satchel made of black mooncloth, and encrusted with silver sigils and runes. He chanted counterspells to disable the wards before opening it. Then he reached inside and removed it's contents.

"Lothar's blood!" Brogan gasped.

Necrodamas held in his hand the book. Mog No'ku gi Maguna, the book of worlds. Balba'yorn's prison.

"That's impossible!" Brogan blinked in disbelief. "How did you... I thought they elves had it."

"And they were more than happy to be rid of it. Especially to a kind human wizard who was studying how to destroy such things. But don't be afraid. Here, beneath the lay lines, the demoness has no power. Now it is but a simple matter to repair the bindings and seal her away forever. And then we will be free of her Brogan. Forever."

"It sounds so easy."

"Nothing worth doing is ever easy." Crownguard muttered. Before Brogan could stop him Necrodamus removed the clasps and threw open the cover. Brogan yelled and almost grabbed the wizard's arm, but it was too late. To his surprise however, nothing happened. The boy lay open on the table, very normal and ordinary.

"I told you she was powerless here. But as you can see, we have a problem."

The book was open to the center where maybe a dozen pages were missing. They had been torn out."

"Do you know what happened here?" Necrodamus asked.

"It was just after I took the pact. I was enraged, and I started burning the pages when they turned to ash, they formed an arm. A woman's arm."

"This explains much. Where did this happen?"

"At the Defias hideout, in eastern Northshire." Brogan answered. "But the building was destroyed, burned to the ground."

"Fire cannot harm her. She is most likely buried in the rubble." Necrodamus's eyes narrowed and he scratched his narrow goatee. He mused like that for several seconds and then began to smile. His grin grew until it split his face and the warlock leader began to chuckle. "Oh yes. Oh yes indeed, this will work quite nicely. I will send Surena to retrieve the arm. That should set events in motion nicely."

"Surena? That girl who was here earlier? Isn't she a little young?"

Necrodamus cast Brogan a sidelong glance. "You don't trust her?"

"I don't know her. But Gakin said never trust any warlock, himself included."

"You should have listened to him." Necrodamus said as he reached across and picked up the bracers Brogan had been working on. Something in his voice chilled the young warlock's blood and set all of his senses on edge. "Surena, like most warlocks, desires power. She is also short-sighted, and prone to take the first path presented to her without thinking. Even now she is almost certainly seducing Gakin, and attempting to convince him that the two of them should conspire together to overthrow me."

Brogan started at Necrodamus in disbelief. "You know they're going to betray you? So you're going to stop it? You're going to do something... to kill them perhaps."

"On the contrary." Necrodamus closed the book and returned it to the bag. "I am counting on their betrayal. It is critical to my plan, just as you revealing the location of the missing pages was." The warlock leader placed the satchel back beneath his cloak and started moving towards the door.

"Wait! What plan?" Brogan's cold feeling grew stronger. "You said you were going to trap Balba'yorn forever."

"And you were warned never to trust a warlock. Why would I seal away such obvious power?"

"What are you going to do?"

Necrodamus laughed as he reached the door. With a start, Brogan remembered that it was the only doorway out of the room. "Honestly Brogan, do you think I am a petty villain from a Dwarven fireside fable? Besides, if I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."

Brogan held out his hands. Instantly fire began burning in his palms.

"I would conserve my strength if I were you." Necrodamus casually threw the bracers into the open area at the center of the room. As they landed, they started glowing and a faint hissing could be heard. The room's torches began to flicker wildly, and the light danced and flowed across all of the surfaces. The shadows around the room began to stretch and crawl, twisting like a fog and pooling around the bracers. The darkness deepened into an impenetrable mass, and from it's core two yellow points of light appeared. The bracers rose, the shadows themselves forming wicked claws attached to a shifting, indistinct body.

"Your voidwalker is hungry, Brogan. I don't suppose you have any souls to feed it..." Necrodamus stepped out of the doorway and turned to face the young warlock. The two men gazed at each other for a moment, and then Necrodamus slammed the door shut.

The man once known as Nicholas Crownguard stood outside the door for a moment, listening to the sounds of combat erupting. He turned and walked away without looking back and without caring about the outcome. His mind was already working forward, measuring possible scenarios against one another. Several seconds later he encountered Gakin and Surena running towards the door. They both stopped and stared at Necrodamus in clear confusion.

"Farlsworth is fighting the voidwalker? But he needs more training? He wasn't even close to ready."

"I am afraid I found him unsuitable to join the coven Gakin. The boy is strong, but unpredictable. He's not interested in power, or glory, or riches. But he might still prove useful. If he survives, make sure he escapes to find the city guard. That should lead the demon hunter directly to us, just as I had planned. Surena, come with me. I need you to go to Northshire, and bring the last of the pieces to my chessboard."


	22. Service to the Crown

Chapter 22 - Service to the Crown

The Light flared inside Edwynn's eyes and he opened his mouth to scream. No sound came as his chest convulsed and spasmed. As quickly as it began the light faded and the young rogue gasped for breath. He panted, taking deep lungfulls of air. His heart thundered in his chest and his skin tingled. He was alive... again.

"That was a little better." Lord Tony Romano wiped the blood from his long knife. Edwynn's blood. Just seconds earlier the blade had been buried to the hilt in Edwynn's chest. The wound had been mortal, like nearly a half dozen before it. Edwynn had been helpless as his life literally slipped away before his eyes. Then the blackness closed over him. It was a disquieting feeling, kind of like drifting off to sleep against one's will. The pain and the noise quickly diminished as though coming from a vast distance away. Only a quiet darkness awaited. This most recent time had been a bit different. This time there had been an odd sensation of buoyancy, like swimming or taking a bath. Edwynn recalled feeling like he was floating upwards, drifting towards something. The faintest of glows seemed to penetrate the darkness, coming from above.

Then came the light and the pain. Electricity and arcane energy ripped through his body as the doctor and his infernal machine resurrected him. Edwynn had thought the little gnome was odd the instant he laid eyes on him. When Lord Romano had led the young rogue down to the training room, the doctor had followed, twiddling his fingers gleefully. One entire wall of the training room consisted of a large bank of whirling gizmos that glowed and blinked constantly.

Edwynn coughed and sat up. Two wires led from his bare chest to exposed metal leads on the machine. One was painted red, the other black. Lights were blinking rapidly and the machine was emitting a regular chirping noise like a wounded bird.

"What's that sound?" Edwynn asked. "It wasn't making that noise before."

"Not to worry, not to worry." The doctor turned a small wheel below one of the readouts. This resulted in a shrill whistle of steam from a pipe. The doctor swiftly reversed the knob and the noise stopped.

"Are you sure you know how to work that thing?" Concern etched Edwynn's voice.

"Don't be ridiculous." The gnome answered. Abruptly all the lights on the machine turned off and it became very silent.

"Ignore him." Romano had finished toweling the blood off of his own chest. All of it was Edwynn's. In over a week of training the student's blade had never touched his instructor's skin.

"Um... shouldn't we wait for the machine to start up again?"

"Why?" Romano asked. He casually strolled to a nearby weapons rack and picked up a short mace.

"Hey, I appreciate all that you've taught me, really I do. But don't you think you should go a little easier on me if the machine isn't working?"

"I've got a better idea." Romero answered. "How about you get your head out of your ass and try not to die for once?" The teacher dropped into a fighting stance. Edwynn looked desperately at the doctor. The little gnome was polishing some of the crystals on the machine, completely uninterested in the outcome of the fight.

"Hold!"

Mathias Shaw descended the staircase and entered through a doorway. With a single glance he assessed the room and everything in it.

"Duty calls gentlemen. Edwynn, I want you upstairs and showered in five minutes. Ms. McCoy has laid out some new clothes in your room. Get her help putting them on. Then meet me in the main hall as soon as she declares you presentable.

"With respect sir, we're not done here." Romano said to Shaw. "He's not horrible, but he needs a lot of work."

"It will have to wait." Shaw gave Edwynn a look filled with equal parts concern and pity. The boy didn't like the expression at all.

"What's happened?" the young rogue asked.

"Edwynn DeTeems. You have been summoned, by name I might add, for an audience with the King of Stormwind."

Thirty minutes later Edwynn and Mathias emerged from a secret tunnel into one of the storerooms of Stormwind Keep. The passage had been dark, dry, and surprisingly quick. Once with the storeroom, Mathias extinguished the lantern he had been using to light the way and turned to examine Edwynn.

"Stop fidgeting. You look like a six year old at Sunday mass."

"I'm sorry sir. It's just... I can't believe anyone would willingly dress like this. I don't' think I've ever worn so many layers in my life."

Shaw's cryptic statement earlier about needing assistance getting dressed had been correct. The shirt had buttons in the most inconceivable locations. A deep blue sircoat was worn over this, with two long tails hanging down lower than his old cloak did. The shoes were soft leather, with hard soles at least two inches thick. Around his neck was a silk sash that Ms. McCoy had twisted and knotted in some serpentine fashion that had been impossible to follow. Finally Sloan had pulled his hair back into a rough ponytail.

"There." She had said before he left. She smiled briefly and pushed aside a lock of his hair. "You look rather dashing, after a sort." It had been the only compliment she had ever given him.

"I feel like an idiot." Edwynn confessed to Shaw.

"Well you look fit to attend the king's own Greatwinter feast. You could probably have used a shave, but it's too late now. Let's get this over with."

Shaw slowly pulled open the door and stepped into a deserted office. From there they moved to a hallway filled with more well dressed people that Edwynn had ever seen in his entire life. The spymaster than led him through a maze of ballrooms and hallways. Up and up they traveled, ascending broad stairways and ramps.

"Sir, has something happened? Everyone seems so preoccupied."

"We're about to find out."

Shaw led them up a final sloping hallway towards a set of elaborate double-doors. Two guards out front stood a grim watch. When they saw Shaw and the boy approaching one turned and knocked twice. The guard then slowly opened the door and addressed Shaw.

"She's expecting you."

"She?" Mathias's mood darkened.

The guard swept them inside and closed the door behind them. Inside was a grand office, intricately furnished with works of art and gifts to the king from foreign lands. A large desk strewn with papers occupied a central area against the left wall. To the right, the wall of the room was composed entirely of glass panels, and outside it a balcony supported a breathtaking view of the entire city. And beyond its gates, the green forests of Ellwynn stretched to the horizon. Standing with her back to the door, the silhouette of a woman gazed out the city.

"Mr. Shaw. It's about time you got here. Is this the man I asked you to bring?" The woman turned to face them.

The air caught in his throat the instant Edwynn saw her face. The woman was impossibly beautiful. Her face was perfect, as if cast from marble by the world's greatest artist. Her skin was almost pure white and not a single blemish or wrinkle marred its surface. Her dark hair fell like silk across her bare shoulders. Even from across the dozen paces to where she stood Edwynn could smell her intoxicating perfume. But it was her eyes that captured and held the young rogue's gaze. There was something about them. They did not seem to reflect the light properly. They were dark, cold, and somehow... inhuman. Looking into those eyes, Edwynn felt like he was again slipping into the abyss of death. He felt at once captivated and terrified of her.

He vaguely heard a disgruntled Shaw talking to the woman. "The summons I am here to answer was made in the name of the King."

"That is correct, Mr. Shaw. The king is indisposed at the moment. He has empowered me to act in his stead."

"Indisposed? Where is he?"

"That is not your concern. Your duty is to the crown and that means that until the king says otherwise you are to do what I say when I say it. That also goes for everyone in your organization, and this entire kingdom for that matter. Now leave us, I have questions for this young man."

"You go too far Katrana..."

"I am not of the habit of repeating myself Mr. Shaw." She cut him off. "Guards!"

The door opened immediately.

"Mr. Shaw is done here." She addressed the guards as they entered. Two men took up flanking positions on either side of the spymaster. One of them moved to grab his arm, but Shaw slipped out of his grasp.

"I'm not sure what your game is yet, but the king shall hear of this." Shaw turned to leave. He paused at the doorway and glanced quickly back at Edwynn. "Good Luck." He said. The young rogue simply nodded in response. Then, as quickly as they came, the guards were gone and the door was closed. Edwynn was alone with the beautiful woman.

"By the Titan's breath, I cannot believe how exhausting you people are!" The woman muttered loudly to herself. She stepped gracefully to the table and began shifting through the papers on the desk. Edwynn didn't know what to do, so he waited patiently for the Lady to address him. But she continued rifling through the papers, apparently looking for a particular one. After a while, Edwynn cleared his throat.

"What?" The woman looked up at him in anger.

""Umm..." Edwynn felt himself withering under her gaze. "You... you wanted to see me?"

The woman's eyes narrowed and a palpable wave of heat seemed to emanate from her. Edwynn thought it was his imagination, except he could feel his overcoat shift from a spontaneous breeze.

As quickly as it had come, the heat wave passed. The woman turned back to her searching. However, this time she began to speak.

"Do you know why you are here?" She asked. Edwynn blinked in silence. He was here because she had summoned him, but he felt that to say as much might invite some terrible consequence. Luckily the lady did not wait for him to answer.

"Of course not. You have not idea why you are here. None of you do. Only the trolls know why, and they're not telling. No, it is simply beyond your grasp. You go about your daily business of eating and sleeping and fighting and dying without any consideration of what it's all for. You are too impatient. You seek knowledge without considering what you would do with it. You conquer lands without developing the lands you already occupy. You slaughter your enemies, but spare their women and children. And then, when the Horde escape from their internment camps and raise an army against you, you find yourself surprised."

Having exhausted the supply of papers on the desk, she opened one to the drawers and continued her search. "My father warned me about you. He said your ambition knew no bounds. You would not stop until someone rose to stop you. And even if you could be defeated, it was your spirit that could never truly be crushed. This is something my brother fails to see."

Edwynn simply gave up trying to follow her conversation. She seemed like a crazy person. Edwynn was sure that her father must be a lord, or a prince of some kind, and that he would remember if he had met him. Yet apparently someone was speaking highly of him. Maybe her father worked at the network with Mathias Shaw. But even then, her words simply did not make sense.

"Ah-Ha!" The woman gave a little cry of victory and pulled a sheet of parchment from the drawer. She took a long feather, dipped it in a nearby inkwell, and began to write.

"Edwynn DeTeems, formerly of Northshire. For services to the crown of Stormwind, exercised with great valor and in a matter befitting the highest standards of his majesty's military, you are hereby awarded the title of Viscount of Westbrook. You are entitled to the properties and fealty of the peoples of that land. You will govern in the name of the king, and are responsible for the prosperity and well-being of those under your rule." The woman stopped writing and smiled at the page. "But honestly, who really cares about the little people."

Edwynn stood speechless, his heart hammering in his chest. Him, a noble? Elevated from running boy of Crownguard manor to a viscount? It was impossible. More than impossible. It was a dream.

The woman had already risen from the desk and was approaching him. "Yes, I can see I was right about you. Someone who recognizes opportunity when it presents itself. Well young man, I have a little job for you. A quest, actually. And here is your reward. Land, subjects, wealth, and power. All at once and all within your grasp. I have but to place the king's seal upon it and this writ becomes law. Do I have your attention?"

"Yes. Yes mame. Yes, my lady!" Edwynn half-saluted, then stopped and gave a clumsy bow. The woman rolled her eyes but didn't criticize.

"Follow me." His hostess led Edwynn towards the balcony. The noonday sun shone brightly outside. Opening a sliding glass door, they stepped out to the edge, overlooking the keep below.

"Ahh, I love this view." She purred. Edwynn followed her gaze down to the central courtyard. A gallows had been constructed there, and a crowd was gathered, consisting of perhaps a hundred of Stormwind's citizen's and guards.

"A hanging?"

"Yessss..." The noblewoman practically hissed and her eyes held a hungry look. "A criminal was captured just before dawn. Some city guards found him half-dead in the mage district. They had some fun with him before turning him over to the Chief Justice. He was sentenced rather quickly to be strung up at noon."

As if on cue a roar rose from the crowd. A bundle of guards were half carrying a body forward through a sea of people. Even at this distance, the blond hair contrasted sharply with black skin and glowing eyes.

"Brogan?"

The noblewoman smiled. "Ahh, good. So you do know him. I was worried for a moment that I would have to find some other way to attain my goal. But you would still have been useful. Hangings always stir my appetite."

"They can't... He hasn't done anything. I know him. Whatever he's accused of, I'm sure he's innocent."

"He is your friend? You care about him? Good. Because his fate and yours are now linked."

Watching the jeering crowd screaming at Brogan drove all thoughts of riches and nobility from Edwynn's mind. "What is it you want from me?"

"A mystical artifact. A book. It came to the city a little more than a week ago, just as you and your friend did. I had almost convinced the elves to part with it, but then those incompetent tree-lovers had it stolen right out from under their noses. Now a man holds it in secret location here within the city. Within my city!"

The woman's eyes narrowed and again Edwynn felt a hot wind. Several of the guards along the battlements cried out at the sudden gusting.

"The man who has the book is called Necrodamus. His true identity is a secret, as is his location. All of the members of his coven are under a powerful gias. It is a potent, ancient magic. My father once used one on Korialstraza. Brogan knows where Necrodamus is, but cannot speak, write, or communicate this information in any way. However he can be convinced to take someone he trusts back to the secret coven. Someone who would not betray him."

Edwynn did not like how she phrased that last sentence. Looking back down at the gallows, he saw the hangman placing the noose around his friend's neck. The executioner looked up and the noblewoman held up her palm.

"Halt!" Someone in the crowd yelled. "Lady Katrana Prestor has stayed the execution!"

Lady Prestor turned to Edwynn. "Now, you listen to me young man, and you listen carefully. I want that book. I want it desperately, and as you have seen I am prepared to be most gracious to the one who brings it to me. Others want it as well. Some will try to kill for it. Other will attempt to bribe you with riches, or women. But a title, a change of station, this is something no one but I can offer you."

"You have twenty-four hours Edwynn. If Brogan or anyone else tries to stop you, you will have to deal with that using the methods Shaw teaches in that little school of his. But if you fail me...if you dare fail me..." The woman stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Edwynn was suddenly aware of how tall she was, how long her nails were, and how hot her breath felt on his skin. It was not a pleasant sensation.

"Truly Edwynn, you have no idea how powerful I am, or how far I would go to punish someone who displeases me. Fail at this task, and there will be nowhere on Azeroth that you will be safe from me."


	23. Drums of War

Chapter 23 - Drums of War.

Guards led Edwynn into the depths beneath Stormwind Keep. The lower levels were home to storerooms, servant's quarters, smithies, and of course, the king's dungeons. The city had a separate prison for the more general-population criminals, called the Stockades. However, that prison was not equipped to hold creatures of a magical nature. And since the constables of Stormwind were unable to determine the extent of the warlock's powers, they had taken no chances with his internment.

Edwynn was escorted past three separate checkpoints, each one involving a trio of guards who examined his paperwork thoroughly. The writ he carried was extremely unusual, and caused a lot of uncomfortable looks. But Lady Prestor's seal was genuine, so not a single person dared to halt his entry.

The third and final checkpoint was manned not by guards, but by wizards. They led Edwynn down a narrow hall with a low ceiling to a door made entirely of white wood. It had no visable handle, and the outside was covered with mystic symbols that glowed softly. One of the wizards spoke several words, and the glow faded. The door itself then became transparent, and faded from view entirely. The wizard then escorted Edwynn forward into Brogan's cell.

The room was perfectly round, with a high arched ceiling. It was lit by several ceremonial candles spaced evenly around the room. On the floor a intricate circle of arcane power had been drawn. Like the door, it glowed softly and Brogan's collapsed form lay at it's center. He wore tattered black robes, the back of which were shredded and bloodstained from where the whip had been used. The warlock lay face down, and was breathing shallowly. His skin was darker than his robes, and his glowing eyes were shut.

"They tortured him for hours." The mage who had opened the door said. "The chief justice extracted his name, and his confession of demon worship. But he never revealed his coven's whereabouts, no matter what was done to him. The painmakers made great sport of his regenerating skin..."

"Stop!" Edwynn shouted suddenly. Seeing his friend half-dead on the ground, he found himself barely able to restrain the urge to knock the wizard on his ass. "Just... Stop talking. Bring me some food and water."

To his surprise the wizard simply reached forward and held his hand out, palm upwards. The air shimmered and in seconds a full meal of bread and water on a tray materialized. Edwynn was stunned only for a second before taking the tray and walking forward.

"Wait! Don't cross the line!"

Edwynn ignored the warning and stepped into the circle. The ring glowed for an instant, and then faded from view. Edwynn knelt next to Brogan and placed the tray on the floor. The warlock's body seemed physically unharmed, but he was obviously unwell.

"My lord, I would strongly advise against that." The wizard addressed him, and Edwynn was surprised he used the title. But he supposed that the cloths and the writ supplied the man with enough cause to think that he was a noble. The wizard stood near the door with his hands raised, ready to cast a spell if the warlock tried to escape. "Without the circle of binding he could escape and kill us all."

"Escape? Are you blind? He's barely alive." Edwynn touched Brogan's shoulder and gently shook it. "Brog? Hey, it's me. It's Edwynn."

The warlock's eyes fluttered open. "Ed?" The fiery eyes were a dull orange, like embers that had almost burnt out. The voice coming from his throat sounded like raspy leaves rubbing together. The mage jumped back and a glowing ball of light appeared in his hand. Edwynn shifted so that his own body was between the two of them.

"It's me, buddy. Here, drink this." Edwynn held the cup of water to Brogan's lips. His friend sipped greedily, coughed, and pulled away. He coughed several more times, his body wracked with pain after each heaving breath.

The wizard spoke again, with a grim tone. "I don't think we should be doing this. He is the enemy. We should not be offering him any form of solace."

Edwynn had had enough. He leapt to his feet and reached into his overcoat. The only advantage to the outrageous outfit was that it allowed him plenty of places to conceal weapons. The pearl-handled knife was in his hand before he knew it. "Listen swine. This is my friend, and you better remember that. Now get out!"

"My Lord, I should not leave you alone with him."

"NOW!"

The wizard backed up quickly. Once in the hallway he muttered a word and the white wooden door reappeared. There were no symbols on this side, nor a handle. Edwynn was so angry he didn't care.

Brogan had stopped coughing and had taken the cup of water. He was sipping it carefully. Edwynn crouched next to him and, not knowing what else to do, waited. After a minute Brogan finished the drink and collapsed back to the floor.

"You should eat something." Edwynn picked up the bread and held it out to his friend.

"In a sec..." The warlock lay on his back, breathing much deeper that before. After a couple seconds he looked up. His eyes seemed much brighter. "You look different. Are you getting married or something?"

"Huh" Edwynn stood up and looked down at himself for a moment. The dungeon grime was already ground into his pants and his sleeves were probably ruined. "Oh. Well a lot's happened since the last time we saw each other."

"Tell me about it." Brogan took the bread and bit off a piece of it. He chewed slowly.

"Listen, we've got to talk." Edwynn said as the blond boy ate. "I need you to take me to wherever you've been hiding for the last week."

"No way." Brogan responded between bites "They'll kill you. They'll kill us both."

"Listen, you don't have to take me all the way. Just get me to the entrance. I've gained some skills since Northshire. I can probably sneak past the guards and..."

"Not these guards, Ed. We're talking about warlocks here. The things they have on watch, they don't have any eyes."

Edwynn swallowed. The idea that there might be demons in the coven had occurred to him, but he had been betting that his stealth would allow him to bypass most of the security and let him get close to their leader. Or maybe he wouldn't have to..."

"What about the book? Do you know where it is?"

Brogan stopped chewing. His eyes narrowed and he gave the rogue a cool stare. "Is that why you're here? To get the book?"

"No, of course not. Wait..." Edwynn looked at his friend for a moment. Were they friends? Were they really? Back before all this started, Brogan had just been one of the other kids in the school room. They didn't share any common interests, and Edwynn got the feeling Brogan didn't really like him that much. But they had risked death together against the Defias, and had probably saved each other's lives a couple times. At that moment Edwynn had to make a decision and he knew that if he choose wrong, it would cost him everything.

"Okay, I'm gonna be square with you. A woman sent me to talk to you. She wants the book. She offered me a lot to get it for her. A whole lot. I came down here because I wanna get you out of this place. See, look." Edwynn pulled out the write and handed it to Brogan. The warlock took it and read slowly.

Edwynn continued. "It's a conditional pardon. It means I can get you out of here if you'll show me where the coven is."

Brogan frowned at the document. "It says my sentence of death is reduced to life imprisonment. That doesn't sound too great."

"Hey, I'll be able to get you a full pardon once we have the book. I'll hide it or something, and not hand it over until..."

"No. You'll be dead."

Both Edwynn and Brogan jumped at the new voice. Edwynn whirled towards the door, dagger in hand. Standing where the white door used to be was Mythril. Her neck and knees were bent just to fit into the hallway. Behind her the mage was fidgeting nervously. "Sorry for the intrusion my lord, but she also has a writ to see the prisoner."

"Indeed." Mythril stepped forward into the room and sighed with relief as she stretched to her full height. The mage remained behind in the doorway, his eyes shifted between the three of them.

"Is this how the alliance treats its prisoners?" the Night Elf frowned. "Even Illidan had better accommodations. Are you hungry Brogan? Can I offer you anything?"

"Food, if you have any." Brogan shoveled the last of the bread into his mouth. Edwynn just stared at him but said nothing. That load had been the size of his own breakfast and the rogue had yet to have lunch.

Mythril said nothing. She merely opened a pouch at her waist. From it she produced a couple of apple seeds. She held them forward in her hand. The seeds hummed for a couple seconds and then swelled and blossomed. In seconds they had been replaced with two fully grown, fresh apples. She tossed them forward and Brogan clumsily caught one.

The elf turned to the mage who had opened the door. "Thank you very much, sir magus. Your presence is no longer required." The druid nodded and the wizard seemed very happy as he muttered the magic word. Again the door appeared. Brogan bit into his apple as they watched him go. Edwynn sighed. Now he was getting hungry. But he refused to let that distract him.

"What did you mean we'd be dead?" The rogue asked.

Star filled eyes looked at him and the ears made a funny little hop. "You must know Edwynn that anyone who would pay to have the codex delivered to them cannot have altruistic intentions. I cannot fathom if Lady Prestor's actions are motivated by her own desires, or if she wishes to procure Balba'yorn's prison for some third party. One must assume that whoever the ultimate orchestrator is, they can only be capable of a singular goal. They wish to harness the power of the demon to create another dark portal. We cannot allow this. No one who cherishes Azeroth could. The book cannot reach Lady Prestor, or anyone else. It must be destroyed."

"How?" Brogan said as he tossed aside the apple core. He picked up the second apple and spoke between bites. "If we burn it, the demon escape, and if we hide the book, she'll just find another victim via the dream world to seduce like she did me and..." Brogan suddenly choked on his apple and made a weird face, like he wanted to say something else but couldn't make up his mind about what to say.

"We must discover a way. If the druids here in Stormwind are unable or unwilling to take the measures to destroy the demon, we must find those who can. I can fathom only two courses of action, neither of which have a high probability of success. The first is that we deliver the book to Darnassus. Tyrade Wipserwind and Archdruid Staghelm are both devout followers of Cenarius. They will see the danger and act."

Edwynn nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. What's the catch?"

"Darnassus is a thousand leagues from here. A swift ship and the best winds would take over a week. Isolated on an ocean, the vessel's crew would undoubtedly succumb to Balba'yorn's corruption. This is of course provided she doesn't simply summon the Naga to overwhelm us. No, that plan would simply take too long."

Edwynn kicked the discarded apple core. "So what's the other idea?"

"We must find Nicolas Crownguard." Mythril stated. Again, Brogan apparently bit wrongly into his apple, because he made a little wheezing noise. Mythril ignored him and continued. "Lord Crownguard was the first person in memory to interface directly with Balba'yorn. He may have some insight into her weaknesses. Unfortunately we have no means to find him and no idea where he has gone... Brogan, please. You really must learn to chew your food."

Brogan threw the second apple core against the wall in frustration. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Again, he looked like he wanted to say something but chose not to.

"Well, it's a moot point." Edwynn stated angrily. "We need to get the book first. And to do that we need to get into the coven."

"The three of us aren't enough." Brogan finally spoke. "And we can't sneak in and steal it. The leader keeps the book with him." Brogan seemed surprised at himself for saying what the just did. "It would be suicide."

"Dammit Brogan, haven't you been listening. This is like, end-of-the-world sort of danger. You have to take us."

"Hey, back off Edwynn. No one wants this demon dead more than me!" Brogan stood up on shaky legs. He faced the rogue. "My life is pretty worthless right now, but I'm not about to go get us killed without at least having a real plan!"

"Don't yell at me, buddy, I have a plan. You just don't like it."

"_'Sneak in and snatch the book'_ is not a plan." Brogan poked Edwynn hard in the chest. Edwynn grabbed the warlock's wrist and twisted it aside. With his other hand the rogue grabbed Brogan's shoulder.

"Don't try to put this on me just because you're too scared to..."

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

Instantly Edwynn felt his mind assaulted. His very consciousness shifted and he felt as though he was no longer in alone within his own body. It was as though his body was a stagecoach, and he was a passenger while someone else was driving. He watched as his own hands released Brogan and he stumbled backwards. As quickly as the sensation began, it ended. Edwynn abruptly fell down painfully on his rump. He shook his head a couple times to clear it, and then looked up at the doorway.

"Brogan, are you alright?" A woman rushed from the doorway to the warlock's side. She had pure skin, and wore her black hair up in a tight bun. White priestess robes shone brightly in the room's dim candlelight. She reached the warlock's side, and stopped just short of embracing him. She pulled back a half step, taking in his demonic appearance.

"Myrista?" Brogan's fiery eyes were wide with shock. "By the Light, what are you doing here?"

"I was in lessons with Brother Crowly at the cathedral when I heard you had been arrested. I raced to the keep, afraid that they would have hung you before I arrived. I'm so relieved you're alright."

"How did you get into the prison?" Brogan asked.

"Oh..." Myrista blushed and glanced from the warlock to Mythril and back. "Well, I'm a priestess of the Light, or almost one. I was able to... convince... some of the guards that I was on a mission of mercy from the bishop."

"You lied to the guards?" Brogan asked in disbelief.

"Well, I had to see if you were alright. You sound angry."

"No, I'm just amazed that they let you in here. Some prison this is."

Edwynn rose slowly to his feet. "Ow..." he rubbed his head and his rump. "What did you do to me?"

"Oh! And you!" Myrista rounded towards the well dressed young man. "How dare you attack him like that? Brogan is just a prisoner here and... Oh! Edwynn is that you?"

"Well of course it's me you twit." Edwynn looked down at himself. With the exception of the scuffed up leggings, his appearance remained rather respectable. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, but aside from his cloths he looked the same as the last time he had seen Myrista. Apparently she had been so absorbed in defending Brogan that she hadn't even recognized him.

But Edwynn saw even now that was not the case. Myrista was taking in his new appearance as though she had never seen him before. Her eyes roamed over his new shoes, his shirt, his coat, and the bedeviled neckerchief that Sloan McCoy had tied for him. When she looked at this face again, Edwynn say a level of respect in her eyes that she had never given him before.

"Goodness Edwynn, I didn't know it was you. I'm sorry for attacking you like that. You look... nice. Almost like a nobleman. Is this part of your spy training? Are they teaching you to impersonate a lord?"

Edwynn spoke without thinking. "Actually, I was offered a title. Viscount of Westbrook.

"No!" Myrista's hands rose to her mouth. "That's impossible! Who would do such a thing?"

"Lady Prestor, of course." Edwynn felt himself growing angry. "What, you don't think I was capable of earning it?"

"It's not that." The dark haired girl quickly retracted. "It's just that titles are only awarded to heroes of Stormwind in response for valiant deeds."

"Oh..." Brogan interrupted. "I get it now. That's the reward for getting me to show you where the coven is. Isn't that true Edwynn?"

"It's not like that!" Edwynn turned to the warlock. "You would have hung today if I hadn't told Prestor I could get you to cooperate. It's the only reason she let you live, and if you refuse to help me she'll execute you."

"Us." Myrista corrected.

"What?" Both Brogan and Edwynn said at once.

"If you refuse to help _us_. I'm coming with you. Look, we each would have died back in Northshire if we hadn't been there to help each other. All of us." Myrista looked at Mythril as well. "I'm sure we can do it if the four of us work together."

"Five."

Edwynn wondered why he was surprised as the enchanted door vanished yet again and Mallet entered. Like Mythril, the knight had to bend forward to enter the chamber. This was the first time Brogan or Edwynn had seen him in his full armor, and both boys were quite impressed.

"Uncle Mallet!" Myrista suddenly seemed very embarrassed to be there. "I... I'm sorry I left the cathedral..."

The paladin waved off her apology with his hand. "There will be time for that later. We must escape at once!"

"What?" All three humans exclaimed. Even Mythril raised an eyebrow.

"The Defias and the Twilight Hammer are attacking the city. When I heard Brogan had been captured, I rode to the Chief Justice to plead his case. When I arrived at the barracks, everything was in chaos and disarray. Apparently a small party smuggled themselves into the city disguised as pilgrims. They managed to break into the stockades and have started a riot. Hundreds of prisoners are about to escape. All of the city guards are on their way there as we speak.

"By the Light!" Myrista looked around at her companions. "We have to help them."

"No." Mythril said sternly. "There is very little chance that such a assault could succeed. It is obviously a diversion, and a rather transparent one at that. They can only be after the book."

Mallet nodded. "There's more. While I was at the barracks, Colberthas the demon hunter arrived. He declared quite boldly that a second group of Twilight Hammer acolytes, including several warlocks and demons, and split off and gone to the mage district. He had tacked them to the coven's hideout. For some reason, he felt the need to come to the headquarters of the city guard and announce that he was going enter the lair and kill everyone he found.

"We have to stop him." Brogan said.

"What. Are you kidding?" Edwynn stared at Brogan in disbelief. "He'll kill the warlocks for us."

"No, you don't understand. The leader of the coven, he was expecting this. He knew the demon hunter would find them eventually. He seemed to be counting on it. It was part of his plan. And... I think the twilight hammer was part of his plan too. He wanted this to happen."

A low grumble came from Mallet at this point. "This warlock leader sounds cunning. That makes for a dangerous opponent. I wish we knew more about him."

Brogan made a face like he wanted to scream. He opened his mouth and started coughing suddenly. Myrista gently grabbed his arm but he pulled away from her. He looked back and forth between the uncle and niece for a moment, then sighed helplessly.

"Well, I guess that settles it then." Edwynn looked around the room to the four of them. "We know that Necrodamus is up to something, and that it has to be stopped. I'm going. Who's coming with me?"

"The recovery of the codex is my charge. I will not abandon it." Mythril took a deep breath. "It will be dangerous. It is unlikely that all of us will survive."

"Yeah." Brogan remembered the tarot reading that had started all of his troubles in Stormwind. The card of death still loomed in his future. Then he looked down at his blackened hands, with their think leathery skin. He then glanced up at Myrista. She gave him a weak smile, but she was clearly uncomfortable with his condition. How would she react when she found out who Necrodamus was?

"I'm coming" The warlock said.

"Me too." Myrista chimed in quickly.

"It's settled then." Mallet's deep baritone echoed in the small chamber. "Now, to break Brogan out of here. You kids should let me take point. Some of the prison guards have been sent to quell the riot, but that doesn't mean this will be easy. And I don't want to hurt anyone…"

"I've got a better idea." Edwynn said. Taking the writ back from Brogan, he approached the cell door. "Hey wizard, open up! By order of Lady Prestor we're taking the prisoner out of here!" He then turned to Mallet. "See, trust the rogue. Sometimes it just takes a subtle touch."


	24. First Blood

Chapter 24 – First Blood.

Edwynn's writ functioned well. Word of the riot at the stockades had reached the castle, and the morning's capture of a warlock was quickly forgotten in the excitement of a jailbreak. The royal guard was forming up in the courtyard as the four of them lead Brogan out the main gate to where Mallet's horse stood patiently waiting. Edwynn noticed that Star seemed completely at ease surrounded by the shouts and cries of men preparing for battle. Unlike the other mounts she was not secured to a hitching post, but simply stood next to the younger horses, eying the activity with a mild curiosity..

"Did we have to handcuff him?" Myrista asked. She watched as Brogan twisted uncomfortably in the tight iron bands.

"It would be best to maintain appearances, at least until we get to wherever we're going." Mallet raised his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply. Star immediately trotted forward and came to a stop just before the paladin. Mallet then turned and gripped Brogan securely by the waist and hoisted him up into the saddle.

"Normally I would insist that one of the ladies ride, but under the circumstances this will have to do." The knight tied Brogan's manacles securely to the saddle and then pulled out a large black bag the guards had given him.

"Uncle please! That's not necessary!" Myrista pleaded. By the strength of her protest Edwynn would have sworn it was she that was about to be hooded.

"Until we are away from the castle and he can use magic to disguise himself, the less people see him the better. The last thing we want is for Marcus Jonathan to learn we marched out of Stormwind Keep with his warlock. Wirt or no writ, he'd have us all arrested.

Mythril spoke up at this point. "Your citizens are afraid. Warlocks and bandits are attacking the city. If your people see a helpless prisoner with Brogan's… affliction being marched up the street, some of them may feel like releasing some of their pent up frustrations."

Myrista wasn't about to give up. Brogan however stopped her. "It's fine. And it's for the best." His blazing eyes looked down at the priestess. Quickly he offered her a weak smile, and then bent forward to allow Mallet to put the hood on. Once secured, one would have to look closely at his hands to know there was anything wrong with him. Myrista gazed up at him with sympathy, and at her uncle with absolute loathing.

Mallet said nothing, merely taking the reigns and leading the horse towards the gate. The young lieutenant in charge read the writ slowly, and then looked them over. Edwynn's expensive attire had been somewhat sullied by his trip to the dungeon. Mallet's armor marked him as a knight, but it was obviously old and battered, much like the man who wore it. Myrista kept glancing at Brogan's handcuffs with a sour look on her face. Mythril had set herself slightly apart from the humans. She stood straight and tall, with her shoulders back and her starlight eyes scanning the courtyard in an almost distracted fashion.

The lieutenant shook his head. They didn't look like heroes, but they most certainly did not look like people escaping with a prisoner. He signed the write and motioned them through the gate.

Outside the keep the mood became chaotic. Throngs of confused people, mostly peasants and merchants, massed in front of the gates. All of them were shouting and a few were fighting among themselves. Mallet pushed forward and the crowd closed in around them. Edwynn felt people grabbing at him, asking if the guards were coming. Asking if he had any money. He pushed past them as best he could. It took a couple of minutes before he was through the worst of it.

As they exited the crowd and began to regroup, a man separated himself from the mob and began pleading with Mallet.

"Please good sir knight, you have to help me!"

"We are in haste. I'm sorry."

"The bandits sir! They attacked my shop. My wife and daughter are inside! You must help them!"

Mallet glanced behind him. Myrista was just now pulling herself out of the mob and Mythril's head and large ears could be seen over the mass of humans.

"Please sir knight, I'll pay you! Everything that I have! Please save my family!"

The paladin grimaced. "Keep your money, sir. Where is your family?"

"In the trade district. By the stockades."

"Sir Mallius!" Edwynn had to shout to be heard over the mob. "We don't have any time. The city guard can help him."

The man turned to Edwynn. "Please noble sire, the guards have all been killed or fled. There is no one to turn to!"

Mythril had finally separated herself from the crowd and joined them. "We should move swiftly, before these people get out of control."

"This man says…" Mallet began.

"I heard what he said. We cannot delay." The druid's response was curt.

The paladin frowned at the druid. "We have to help him."

"We are helping him." Mythril responded. "He and his family will certainly die if our mission fails."

"I cannot ignore his situation."

"Do as you feel you must." Mythril grabbed Star's reigns and started to lead the animal away. Star wouldn't move.

"My horse goes where I go." Mallet said.

"So I see…" Mythril leaned forward and whispered several words in Star's ear. The horse neighed loudly and pulled back, almost throwing Brogan in the process.

"Now you've upset her!" Mallet grabbed the reigns back and put his hand on the horse's flank.

"We don't have time for this!" Myrista swept forward and confronted the merchant. "We can't help you. I'm sorry."

"But my family…"

"Find someone else!" She screamed at him and balled her fist as though she was about to hit him. The man retreated quickly. The priestess turned to her uncle. "Let get moving before some other simpleton gets any ideas." Without waiting she turned and marched towards the heart of the city. Mythril followed wordlessly. Mallet stared after his niece in shock, and then a scowl crossed his face. Setting his chin, he led his mount forward. Edwynn kept pace next to him.

"For what it's worth..." The rogue muttered under his breath. "I think we should have helped him."

"One of the first things a paladin learns is that you cannot be everywhere at once." Mallet answered darkly.

* * *

The small band skirted the edge of old town and crossed the canal into the trade district. They passed people panicked and fleeing, as well as small groups of city guardsmen. Mallet noticed that these were not standard army soldiers, but simple militiamen. They seemed completely outmatched by the situation. Most of their officers simply stood and waited for the more experienced royal guard to arrive.

Halfway across the trade district Mallet pulled them into a narrow side alley. There he untied Brogan from his horse and pulled the sack from his head. Half a minute later the manacles came loose.

"Can you disguise yourself again?" Mallet asked. In response the warlock closed his eyes and muttered words of magic. Black skin paled and became fleshy pink. When he opened his eyes the flaming glow had vanished.

"How much farther is it?" Edwynn asked.

Brogan stuck his head out of the alley to get his bearings. "We need to go to the mage district. The Wizard's Sanctum is northwest of wh…" A fit of coughing overtook him for a moment. When it seemed to pass he tried to speak again, but then the coughing returned with a vengeance.

"The coven's gias is powerful. You will not be able to speak of its location." Mythril said as they waited for the warlock to catch his breath.

Mallet stepped out of the alley and frowned. "There is another canal between where we are and the mage district. The nearest bridge will take us close to the stockades. We will undoubtedly encounter the Defias, the Twilight Hammer, or both."

Mythril nodded. "Our enemy has chosen their target well. They simultaneously create a city-wide panic and cut off their true objective from reinforcements." Her ears did a little hop. She looked at the humans and took a quick breath. "All of you stand together."

"Why?" Edwynn asked. Mallet rolled his eyes, then grabbed the rogue's arm and pulled him close.

Mythril raised her hands and chanted in her elvish language. Once again Edwynn felt the rush of her wild magic. He heard the others gasp as their senses became sharper. He was acutely aware of the smell of the city, the cries of panic from its peasants and, in the distance, the clash of steel.

"The grace of Elune is now with you. She will watch over us in the coming battle."

"This is a strange magic…" Mallet opened and closed his gauntleted hand several times. "It feels so… feral. The priests of Northshire have a similar incantation."

"The fortification spell. I know it!" Myrista stepped forward. Pulling a small box from a pocket of her robe, she withdrew a four inch candle. Holding it up before her she faced Mythril and chanted a few words. A flame appeared at the wick, and Mythril stiffened slightly. The priestess turned to Brogan and repeated the ritual. Then to Mallet, then to Edwynn. When she cast the spell on him, the rogue felt the warmth of the magic descend onto him from above. It was different from the elven magic. Mythril's spell seemed to flow within him. Myrista's magic seemed to rest on top of his shoulders and head, almost like a cloak.

The priestess staggered for a second as she finished. "Wow. I've never done that on so many people at once. I think I need to sit down."

"This will help." Mallet stepped to his niece and made a small gesture towards her. She gasped, as though she had just taken a long drought of water. Mallet repeated the process on Mythril, Brogan, and himself. He then turned to Edwynn and hesitated.

"What? I'm not good enough for paladin magic?"

"Our blessings are situational. The one I gave them will replenish their stores of magical energy. You don't know any magic, so it will do you no good."

"Guess I'm out of luck then."

Not exactly." Mallet made a different gesture. Edwynn's face tingled like someone had just splashed him in the face with water.

"What did that do? Protect me from damage? Make me stronger? Or faster?"

"I have those blessings but this one is better for you. It will keep you out of trouble. The enemy should notice you less."

"Hey! Don't you trust me? Give me something that will let me help in the fight."

"I decide what blessings you get. I don't suppose you have anything that can help the rest of us?"

"Sorry, I left my poisons back at headquarters."

Mallet glowered at Edwynn. "I detest poison, and the others have no weapons." The paladin turned to his niece. "See what I mean? Rogues bring nothing to the battlefield except themselves." He turned to Brogan. "How about you? Do you have any magic that can help us?"

"You would not want what I can give you." Brogan said as he fidgeted nervously. "We're really gonna do this, aren't we?"

"Yes. Are you afraid?"

Brogan licked his lips quickly. "A little, yeah."

"That's good. It will keep you on the edge, and probably help you live. Now let's go."

"Shouldn't we make a plan or something?" Edwynn asked.

"No point making one until we see what we're dealing with."

Mallets took his hammer from behind the saddle of his horse, and then lead them out of the alley and towards the magic district. The shops became more crowded until they formed a wall of buildings. On the far side an avenue circumvented the district along the canal. The only passage through the wall of shops was a short tunnel. Halfway through that tunnel the knight held out his hand for them to stop. He then moved forward and poked his head around the side of the building. Seconds later he returned.

"We're about twenty feet from the bridge to the magic district. There are four men holding the bridge. All bandits, and all with knives. I didn't' see any demons or wizards, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. So here's the plan: I'm going in first. Once they've seen me I'll draw them back in this direction and away from the bridge. You kids will wait here until…"

A cry rose from behind him and suddenly the air was filled with the clash of steel. Edwynn slipped past Mallet and looked around the corner.

General Marcus Jonathan and a detachment of the palace guard had charged up and were attacking the men on the bridge. The bandits were standing their ground, not retreating or advancing. The bridge itself was narrow enough that four men could stand shoulder to shoulder and block all passage. Jonathan's men outnumbered the Defias five to one, but they were so crowded together that they interfered with each other's ability to fight.

"Imbecile!" Mallet muttered as he watched. "Jonathan was always better at field battles than squad-based skirmishing. His idea of strategy is to swarm the enemy instead of…"

"Over there!" Edwynn pointed.

Windows had opened in one of the houses on the far side of the canal. Red-masked men with crossbows leaned out and began firing at the guardsmen.

"It's an ambush!" Edwynn gasped. The crossbows high-pitched whirls could be heard and two of Marcus's guardsmen screamed and fell into the canal. The water churned red in their wake.

Without saying a word Mythril stepped forward. Raising her hands above her head, she closed her eyes and began chanting. Immediately a gust of wind swept along the canal and slammed into the face of the building. Clouds began to form above the building and seconds later it began to rain, then downpour. The bandits within the building cried out in panic at the sudden change in the weather. One of them spotted Mythril and attempted to fire at her, but the gale forced his bolt hopelessly awry.

Suddenly several more soldiers cried out in pain as new crossbow bolts peppered them from above and behind. Edwynn looked to see a second shop, this one on the trade district side of the canal, was also occupied by the enemy. One of the soldiers on the bridge turned and pointed at the new threat, but a shot to the leg had him crying out in pain. The man staggered, lost his footing, and fell forward into the blood-soaked depths.

"He's gonna drown!" Brogan yelled and before anyone could stop him he raced forward and dove into the canal. Myrista gasped and started to follow, but her uncle grabbed her arm and pulled her to a halt.

"He's on his own. Myrista, stay here and protect Mythril. If her spell is interrupted the men on the bridge are doomed. Edwynn, come with me." Without looking back the old man charged around the corner towards the shop the bandits had occupied. Edwynn stood there stupidly for a moment before racing after him.

Edwynn ran faster than the paladin did, arriving at the door to the shop only seconds after Mallet. He stepped inside just in time to see the old warrior body slam a bandit right into a glass-enclosed wine rack. Bottles shattered and the masked man fell to the ground. A second bandit stood near a set of stairs near the back of the shop. That man drew a narrow throwing dagger from his vest and whipped it at Mallet's head. The old man shrugged and deflected the blade with his massive shoulder pads. He then charged across the distance between them and with a shift of his hammer's shaft pinned the man against the wall. The bandit squirmed against the knight, but the weight of the paladin and his massive armor was too much to budge.

"Upstairs. How many?"

The bandit spit in the knight's eye.

"How many?" Mallet shifted his grip and the brigand cried out in agony. A woman screamed from the floor above them. Mallet shot a glance up the stairs and cursed in a most un-chivalric fashion. Turning to the bandit, he brought his steel-clad knee up between the man's legs fast and hard. He then released the man, who slumped down onto the floor, unconscious from the pain.

"Are you just gonna leave them here?" Edwynn asked.

"I don't like to kill unless I have to. They're not going anywhere for a while." He turned and took the stairs two at a time.

Edwynn drew his knife and ran after the paladin. At the top of the stairs was a doorway leading to the shopkeeper's apartment. That was where the scream had come from and from which the sounds of combat currently emerged. When the rogue got to the edge of the door he stopped and forced himself to creep slowly around the corner.

There were no less than six bandits in the small apartment. Edwynn stepped around the corner just as one received a crushing blow to the head from Mallet's hammer. As one, three of the remaining men jumped at the old man before he could recover. The first dove at his thighs while the other two grabbed an arm each. They pulled his arms out wide so the last two bandits standing near the windows could get a clean shot with their crossbows.

Edwynn struck without hesitation. A single strike to the back killed the bandit holding Mallet's right arm. The knight pulled his steel-clad arm across his chest just in time to have it pinned there by a crossbow bolt. He cried out in pain and dropped his hammer.

Edwynn pulled his knife from the brigand's corpse and brought it up quickly to threaten the man holding Mallet's legs. The action splashed blood onto the man's face and mask. He cried out in fear and fell back, releasing the paladin. The knight struggled with the last Defias for a moment before rearing back and head-butting him. The man went limp and instantly fell to the ground, several of his teeth landing a couple feet away.

Edwynn glanced quickly at the two men with crossbows. The first was reloading from the shot that was still in Mallet's arm. The second was aiming squarely at Edwynn and fired. The rogue twisted as fast as he could, and was rewarded with explosive pain as the bladed bolt head split his jerkin and his skin. It was a long a painful scratch along his left ribcage, but far from serious.

"Look out!"

For the first time Edwynn noticed a woman in the corner. She was a mop of bright red hair and a torn-open blouse. He caught no more details before he followed her extended finger to the second bandit. The man who had been holding Mallet's legs was about to stab Edwynn with a long knife. However, before he could Mallet's mailed gauntlet smashed into his jaw. There was an unhealthy sound of bones breaking and the man went down.

"Hurry up and reload!" One of the two remaining bandits cried.

Edwynn and Mallet each charged one of the crossbow wielding brigands. Edwynn's target dropped his weapon and drew a stout iron club. The rouge feinted left then attacked from the right. His ploy worked and the blade opened a large gash across the bandit's forearm. The man cried out and stumbled backwards. His foot landed on his discarded crossbow and the string twisted around his ankle. The man stumbled backwards out the window. At the last second he managed to grip the side as he fell out.

Unthinkingly Edwynn rushed forward and tried to help him. The rogue's fingers closed around the man's wrist just as the bandit's strength gave way.

"Rosie, help!" The man cried as he slipped out of Edwynn's grasp. He hit the ground and crumpled. It was clear the second story fall didn't kill him, but his leg was most likely broken.

Edwynn pulled back into the room, panting heavily and groaning in pain. The relatively superficial wound on his side stung sharply. Glancing nearby showed him Mallet, standing over the body of the last remaining bandit. The villain was not moving. The knight used his left hand to grab the metal crossbow bolt pinning his right arm to his chest. With a single jarring move he pulled the bloody spike from his chest plate. A small amount of blood trickled from the hole where the bolt had hit his torso. He stared in silent disapproval at the eight inches of unbroken wood spouting from each side of his wrist.

"Oh, sir knight! Thank you for saving me!" The red haired woman said. She leapt forward, her blouse open and her bosom practically falling out over her corset. But her voice filled Edwynn with cold dread. He had heard it before. And the crossbow wielding bandit's last words triggered something in his mind. Something from a rain-soaked night in the woods a week before.

_"Hey Rosie." The bandit with the club spoke. "Isn't that Wedge's blade?"_

"It's a trap!" Edwynn screamed. "She's one of them!"

Mallet heard the words just as the woman closed to embrace him. Too late he saw the knife appear in her hand. She struck like a viper, slipping the blade up under the panels of his breastplate's lower torso and into his stomach. With a single stroke she opened his belly and pulled the blade free. Then she stepped to the side and let the knight fall forward wordlessly onto his face. She looked at Edwynn and tossed her head so that her hair left her eyes.

"The boy from the forest? Edwynn? Yes that's what you said your name was. I had hoped to find you in Stormwind. VanCleef wants me to repay you for burning down his house."


	25. The Slaughtered Lamb

Chapter 25 – The Slaughtered Lamb

Rosie smiled coyly as she bent slightly at the knees. Edwynn's stomach was a knot of fear. Mallet lay face down on the floor behind the woman, a pool of thick dark blood forming around his midsection. But the young rogue couldn't worry about him just yet. Rosie's skirt hid her feet, so Edwynn was unable to tell what they were doing. Footwork was a good indication of intent, or so Lord Romaro had told him. Rosie could see Edwynn's while her own were hidden. She had the advantage.

The rogue's style of combat was designed around striking hard and fast, hopefully before your enemy even knew you were there. Once you were visible and toe-to-toe with your enemy, there weren't many tricks available. Edwynn set himself defensively, preparing to receive her attack.

Rosie licked her lips a half second before she leapt. Edwynn saw it and dodged left. She was fast but he was faster. Knife-blows rained, feinted, and parried as the two of them weaved back and forth in and out of each other's guards. Edwynn kept moving until Rosie's skirt caught under her heel. It was all he needed to lock her blade up with his own. He then grabbed her wrist with his off-hand and slashed open her forehead with his knife. She screamed and dropped her weapon. Edwynn released her and she stumbled backwards. Blinded by her own blood, she crashed helplessly against the wall.

The rogue reached down and picked up her dagger. Edwynn hesitated then. The woman was half-naked and completely at his mercy. It didn't seem right to kill her like this.

"It's over. Give up."

Rosie smeared the blood out of her face as gasped at him. "You're offering me mercy? I would not do the same for you were our positions reversed." She held one hand against her forehead, the other against the wall for support.

"I guess that just makes me a better person." Edwynn answered. Rosie began to slide left against the wall towards a closet. "Stop right there. I told you to surrender!"

"Or what? You'll kill an unarmed woman? You've already shown you don't have the stomach for it." She fumbled for the handle of the closet, her eyes staying locked on Edwynn. "I'm not exactly a nursemaid. Would you trust me if I did surrender?"

Edwynn fumbled for an answer. He really was in a bind. Mallet was dying, maybe even already dead. Most of the bandits had been incapacitated, not killed. One of them could recover any second. Edwynn didn't have any ropes to tie Rosie up, and he didn't trust her not to kill him the instant he took his eyes off of her. No, there was simply no avoiding it, he had to kill her.

Rosie's hand found the closet handle and pulled it open. Inside a woman and a small girl were bound together, cowering in fear. The woman's blouse and skirt were missing, presumably Rosie was currently wearing them. At the prisoner's feet was a set of dark leathers identical to the ones Rosie had been wearing in the woods a week ago. And with them was a pair of swords in sheaths.

Too late Edwynn realized what the female bandit was after. In the blink of an eye Rosie had both rapiers drawn and poised in a fighting stance. She held one directly before her, slightly off center. The other she held high over her head with the tip towards Edwynn. She vaguely resembled a scorpion this way. The rogue backed away from her, stumbling over Mallet's body in the process. The old man groaned and mumbled something, but remained where he was.

"Should have killed me when you had the chance, boy. There's no honor among thieves." She moved forward at a smooth pace, clearly navigating around the bodies insuring she didn't make the same mistake twice.

Edwynn continued to back away from her until his ankle hit the wall. Rosie stepped around Mallet and steadily closed the distance between them. With nowhere left to retreat to, Edwynn took the only course of action left. He attacked.

Rosie had grown overconfident and the assault took her by surprise. She parried a half second too late and Edwynn closed the distance between them. Blades crossed each other and there was a horrible sound of tearing cloth, and the splash of hot blood. Inertia drove the combatants bodies together for a second, then they both pulled away.

Edwynn stepped back, but as he put his weight on his right leg, it failed him. He stumbled backwards and slammed his head against the wall. He then collapsed in a heap. Looking down, he saw blood staining his pants crimson. She had opened the inside of his thigh six inches below his groin. His artery was exposed and bleeding. He was going to die.

"Nice one kid." Rosie was standing in the center of the room, cradling one hand against her ribs. "I've lived through worse though. Let this be a lesson to you. Never leave a wounded enemy alive."

"I'll try to remember that…" Edwynn's vision was rapidly getting dark.

"To bad for you I always follow my own rules." Rosie raised the point of her sword towards Edwynn's chest.

"Not quite." Edwynn smiled.

Too late Roise saw the rogue's eyes shift focus to something behind her. She spun raising both swords in defense. But Mallet's hammer swept them aside like matchsticks.

"How?" Edwynn heard Rosie utter before he closed his eyes in exhaustion. He was distantly aware of a heavy slap of meat, then a body hitting the floor. His fingers and toes were tingling faintly, like he had been sleeping on them. Then he felt pressure against his thigh and a hand on his forehead. Blinding light seared though him, burning his eyes and ripping up through his thigh. He opened his eyes to see Mallet's worn face looking at him.

"Thanks." Edwynn whispered hoarsely. He looked down at the paladin's blood-soaked midsection. "I thought you were dead."

"'Dogg Kokrekeses.'" That's orcish for 'Holy Cockroaches'. Paladins are hard to kill young man, even when we can't heal ourselves." He pulled his hand away from Edwynn's leg. The blood-covered thigh was marked with a bright red line, but the skin was unbroken.

"That will bruise nasty tomorrow. As will that." The knight pointed to Edwynn's ribs. They too no longer bore any injury. "You should be fine. Now, on your feet." The old man gripped Edwynn by the bicep and heaved him upwards. Planting him upright, he then turned his back to the rogue and went to see to the civilian prisoners in the closet.

"What happened to Rosie?" Edwynn asked.

"Paladins don't like killing if we don't have to. But sometimes… we have to."

Edwynn took a step forward and then stopped suddenly. He was overcome with the sensation that he had just pissed himself. Looking down, he saw nearly a gallon of his own blood run down his pant leg and into his boot. Seeing it, the rogue realized how lucky he was to be alive. Certainly he had 'died' before, but that was in a controlled environment, with knowledge that the gnomish doctor could revive him. If it hadn't been for Mallet's magic he would have died, and Mallet himself had gone down in the fight. If Rosie had taken the split second to finish the old man off…

"Sir Mallius, we really could be going to our deaths today, couldn't we?"

"That just hitting you now?" Mallet asked, although he didn't really sound surprised. He was untying the captured woman and her little girl. "You've been in dangerous situations before."

"This is different. I thought Mythril was going to do all the work. I mean… don't take this the wrong, but… all it took was one knife blow to take you down."

Mallet pulled the last of the bonds from the woman and stood. "All it ever takes is one knife blow." He then took a winter coat from the closet and draped it over the woman's shoulders. "Good lady, I believe I met your husband near the castle gates. He sent us here to rescue you."

"Oh! Noble paladin! Thank you! Thank you ever so much! Sir Mallius is your name? I'll remember you always!" With that the woman grabbed up her daughter and covered the little girl's eyes to hide the carnage. She then ran out the door and down the stairs without so much as a glance at Edwynn.

"Her husband isn't exactly the reason we came in here." Edwynn muttered. "Her story's not exactly going to match up with what happened here."

"They never do."

Outside events had progressed rapidly. As Mallet and Edwynn emerged into the sunlight they could see Marcus's men had already crossed the bridge and taken control of the building on the far side of the canal. Behind him he left a bridge strewn with bodies. Mythril and Myrista joined them, along with Mallet's horse. The priestess's eyes went wide at the sight of Edwynn's blood-soaked leg.

"By the Light, what happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine thanks. I just received a life-threatening wound while saving your uncle, the world-famous paladin, from certain death."

"Save the boasting for the inn." Mallet gave Edwynn a dry look before turning to Myrista. "Where's Brogan?"

"He's gone." Myrista's voice had a funny little echo to it. "He never resurfaced after diving into the water. He drowned."

"Don't be too certain of that." Mallet strode forward onto the bridge and began scanning the murky depths. During the second war, orc warlocks would sometimes hide underwater for long periods of time. They could use magic to stop themselves or others from needing to breath. Sometimes they would hide in small lakes with dozens of orc warriors and wait for our main troops to pass them by. Then they would appear and hit us from the rear. It was a vicious strategy that… over there!"

About twenty yards away from the bridge on the mage district side of the canal, movement appeared. Brogan, still wearing the tattered black robes he was dressed to be hanged in, had surfaced and was dragging a panicked soldier with him. The guard had fallen into the water wearing a heavy iron helm, breastplate, gloves and boots. All of that had to be stripped away in order for the two of them to be able to float to the surface.

"Uh-oh." Edwynn muttered. "This could be bad."

The two men in the canal started splashing and yelling for help. The guard obviously couldn't swim. He trashed wildly and it was with great difficulty that Brogan began to pull the two of them towards the nearest side of the canal. The noise had drawn the attention of Marcus's men. Several of them were armed with long pole-axes, which they were extending into the water to assist their fallen comrade.

"One look at Brogan's cloths and they'll know he's a prisoner. We have to do something."

"Follow me." Mallet led them forward across the bridge and then turned left at the magic district avenue, walking away from Marcus's men. Myrista was about to protest but her uncle shot her a withering look and then proceeded to a archway leading deeper into the buildings. As soon as they rounded a corner and were out of sight of Marcus's men, his niece held her silence no more.

"What about Brogan? We can't abandon him! You don't even care that he…"

"That's enough out of you!" Mallet's harsh voice silenced the priestess instantly. "It's time for you to stop acting like a spoiled brat. I've got enough to worry about your moaning about every little slight and discomfort that we run across."

Myrista felt herself paralyzed. In her entire life, her uncle had never once raised his voice to her. As a child all she needed was a pout or a smile to get anything she wanted. Now she realized she had no control over him whatsoever. The thought left her feeling helpless and infuriated her at the same time.

"I won't let you abandon him."

"No man gets left behind." Mallet told her. He pulled his horse's reigns and stepped back the way they had come. "Stay here. I don't want you getting involved in this."

"In what?" Myrista watched the paladin's back as he walked away. "Uncle, what are you doing?"

"Something stupid." Mallet drew his horse out onto the broad avenue to where they could see Marcus's men. He faced the mount towards the armed guards. They had fished Brogan and the wounded knight out of the canal. There seemed to be a great deal of confusion, with several of the men thanking the warlock while others were hostile. The two factions were arguing, and the volume was getting louder.

Mallet patted Star's flank. "The boy. The one you carried earlier. You see him, girl?" The mount looked down the road at Brogan and stamped her foot once. "Good girl. Bring him here. The boy. Bring the boy here girl. Now!" Mallet slapped Star's flank and the beast exploded in motion.

At the far end of the avenue general Marcus Jonathan was just emerging from the shop previously occupied by Defias bandits. He stepped onto the street to find his men drawing their weapons on each other as they argued over a water-soaked young man in the robes of one condemned. Two soldiers were standing defensively in front of him as a half-dozen others swore they had seen him at the gallows not four hours before.

Marcus opened his mouth to restore order, but he was cut off by a cry of alarm. In a single move Mallet's warhorse charged into the center of the mass of soldiers. She split the loose formation in half and swept aside the man holding Brogan sidelong blow from her armored head. Rearing back on her hind legs she spun in a full circle, threatening all around her with her steel horseshoes. She then landed on all fours, lunged forward and bit Brogan's shirt with her teeth. Before he could do anything the warlock felt himself lifted into the air and thrown bodily across the back of the mount. Suddenly he was scrambling to hold on for dear life as the warhorse turned and charged back in the direction she had come from.

Marcus ran out into the street and watched helplessly as his prisoner from this morning escaped on horseback right before his eyes. It had all happened so fast. Looking past the beast to her destination, he saw the battle worn armor and stark white hair that he had sworn years ago never to forget.

"Crownguard!"

Star thundered to a halt before the paladin and the knight half-lifted, half-pulled Brogan from across her back. The old man glanced back at the general and for a split second their eyes made contact.

Then a building across the canal exploded.

"Sir! The Defias have captured one of the stockades' cannons!" One of Marcus's soldiers called out to him over the noise of falling debris. "Sir, we have to attack now!"

General Jonathan glanced back along the canal. Mallet, the warlock, and that infernal warhorse had already slipped around the bend and out of sight. Jonathan swore to himself and then put the whole affair out of his mind. He had a city to rescue. Mallius Crownguard could wait.

* * *

"Thanks." Brogan sloshed up the avenue with Mallet to join the others. "You would think the royal guard could show a little more gratitude. I saved their man from a watery grave, and they thank me by trying to put a sword in my gut."

"You used demon-magic to stay alive underwater?" Mallet asked.

"I had to. His armor probably weighed 60 pounds. There's no way I could have gotten him out of there before he drowned."

"Marcus's men know that only warlocks can use the unending breath. And they've seen us together. After today, there will be no future for either of us in Stormwind."

"But my writ…" Edwynn began.

"Will most likely be ignored." Mythril spoke for the first time since the battle had begun. Edwynn noticed that her normally calm and cold façade had cracked somewhat. She was trembling slightly and the glow from her eyes seemed somewhat diminished.

"Are you alright?" Edwynn asked.

"I am fine. It is for yourself that you should be concerned. Lady Prestor is a politician. She will do whatever it takes to obtain what she wants. And once she has it, she will not care about anyone who assisted her in obtaining it. To her, you are a tool, nothing more." The Night Elf stood there for a moment longer. Her glowing eyes paled somewhat and she swayed as though she was about to fall over. Mythril's knees buckled and suddenly Edwynn found himself trying to catch her as she collapsed on top of him. In that instant he discovered that she was not only taller than a human woman, but heavier as well. Pressed down by the druid's weight, Edwynn accomplished little more than simply softening her fall to the ground.

"What's wrong with her?" Edwynn asked as he twisted his way out from under her.

"She's exhausted." Myrista reached down and helped Edwynn push the Night Elf into a sitting position against the alley wall.

"It was just a moment of dizziness. It will pass." The purple skinned elf shook her head to clear it but made no attempt to stand.

"I doubt that." Myrista countered sternly. "I saw you conjure a hurricane from a clear sky."

"It was just a squall. Do not trouble yourselves."

"Try this." Mallet pulled a canteen from Star's saddlebag and removed the cap.

"I need no human remedies." Mythril said, but Mallet pushed the canteen into her hand. Green effervescence slipped out into the atmosphere. The druid sniffed the air and her eyes widened. "The dew of the morning glory?!? But it only grows on the slopes of Mount Hyjal, in Kalimdor. Wherever did you find it?"

"You would be amazed at what you can find in the bazaar if you have sufficient coin." He then turned to Brogan. "I hope it's not far. We've lost a lot of time."

"Follow me." The waterlogged warlock began to march quickly up the street. Mallet assisted Mythril to her feet and they moved to catch up. Edwynn grabbed Star's reigns and began to bring up the rear. He thought he was alone, but he realized suddenly that Myrista had slipped down next to him. She moved close to him and spoke softly so the others could not hear them.

"Edwynn, don't you think it was brave, what Brogan did?"

"What?" the rogue responded. "Going for a dip in the canal?"

"No silly, saving that guard's life. He did it without thinking. He just… ran out there. He saw that someone needed help and just… helped. Isn't that noble?"

"Sounds stupid if you ask me."

Myrista gave Edwynn a dirty look, but the rogue continued.

"Yeah, he saved that man's life, but he was about to get killed in the process. If Mallet hadn't rescued him, Brogan would be dead. And if I hadn't saved Mallet's life, Brogan would be dead. So in a way, you could say that I saved Brogan's life."

"You? Edwynn DeTeems? You saved my uncle's life? I thought you were just boasting when you said that earlier." Myrista's face was filled with equal parts amusement and disbelief. Edwynn didn't know which expression offended him more.

"Hey!" the rogue felt himself getting angry. "I saved your life last week."

"With Brogan's help."

"The hell I…" Edwynn slammed his mouth shut. How could this girl be so stupid. The inside of his right boot was filled with blood up to his ankle, and Myrista was fawning over Brogan's doggie-paddling rescue like the boy was Lothar himself. For a split second Edwynn recalled how Myrista had acted in the basement of the Defias hideout. When Edwynn had rescued her, it was as though Brogan didn't exist. Now, just over a week later, it was a complete reversal. For a second it entered Edwynn's mind that he might be jealous of Myrista's less-than-subtle crush on Brogan, but he dismissed that immediately. No, the problem was that Edwynn had been poor and Myrista had been rich. For years his family had worked in her manor, beneath her notice. Now he was on a real adventure doing real heroics and she didn't still did not notice. It was that lack of recognition that was pissing him off.

"Edwynn?" The priestess's question interrupted his thoughts. "Do you think my uncle hates Brogan?"

"Huh? You lost me there. Why would Mallet hateBrogan?"

"Because he's a warlock? Because of demons and dark magic and such."

"Oh. Well… not really, I guess. But I think your uncle sees him more as a victim than a villain. Otherwise why would he be out here trying to redeem him?"

"It's just… well, since my father's missing; uncle Mallius is the closest thing I have to family. So I was wondering… how do you think my uncle would react if Brogan and I got engaged?"

"WHAT?!?" Edwynn yelled and stopped in his tracks.

"Not so loud!" Myrista looked ahead to where all three of their companions had stopped and were looking back at her. Seeing that everything was fine, they turned and continued.

"Myrista! We're about to get killed trying to save the world and this is what you're thinking about? Girl you need to get your head out of the clouds and focus!"

"Lower your voice!" Myrista's mood snapped back to the authoritative tone she used to discipline the Crownguard servants. "Forget it. Just… forget I said anything."

"Now wait… hand on a second." Edwynn's mind was still reeling, but now he was shifting to a more sinister tract of thought. "I thought you were acting a little strange back there at the prison. When did he ask you?"

"Well, he hasn't actually."

Edwynn's eyebrows shot up. "Well, how do you know he's even interested?"

"I don't actually. It's just… I've been having these dreams. They're so vivid."

"Dreams?" Edwynn's voice was ice cold.

"Yes. About Brogan and I. In them he's a powerful warlock, commanding vast armies. And my father is there. They…"

"Myrista!" Edwynn cut her off. "Doesn't this demon we're trying to destroy usually use dreams to control people?"

Myrista opened her mouth to answer but closed it as they approached the others. Brogan, Mallet, and Mythril had all stopped and were standing in the street, frowning at each other.

"You need me!" Brogan said angrily at Mythril.

"I most certainly do not." The night elf replied. She seemed to have recovered from her exhaustion and was now staring down the boy who was only as tall as her biceps.

"I'm the only one who's been here before."

"That is why you cannot proceed. You are compromised." The Night Elf countered. "Our enemy has manipulated you in the past. I cannot risk the success of my mission on your fickle human loyalties."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mallet asked angrily.

The druid seemed surprised that the knight was defending the warlock. "The human susceptibility to demonic corruption is well documented. Medivh, Arthas, Kel'Thezad… the list goes on. I insist that he wait outside while the rest of us enter and deal with the situation."

"That's preposterous." Myrista dived into the argument headlong. "Brogan would never betray us. Frankly, I trust him more than I trust you Mythril! He's not the one who stole a magical artifact from us in the middle of the night. We need him. Tell her, uncle." The younger Crownguard turned to the paladin for help.

"Kalimdori arrogance aside, I agree with Mythril." Mallet said.

"What? Uncle how could you?"

"Child, she is right. The warlocks here have powerful magic. Brogan may already be under their control. Now, don't look at me like that. His affinity to dark magic will make him especially vulnerable in there."

"No, it will make me invaluable. I can detect the demons, even the hidden ones."

Myrista turned to the rogue. "Edwynn, what do you think?"

"This is not a democracy." Mallet said.

"Well, I don't remember putting you in charge."

"I'm in charge because I'm the oldest and most experienced person here."

"That is not true, sir Mallius." The druid corrected.

"Everyone relax!" Edwynn said sternly. To his complete surprise, the four of them stopped arguing and turned to look at him. Edwynn was so surprised by this that he didn't even know what to say. Luckily he was a fast thinker.

"It doesn't matter if Brogan is a traitor or not." The rogue began. "The fact is we can't afford to leave him behind. This is probably going to be dangerous enough with all five of us working together. I've seen him do magic, and frankly we need him. Besides, if he was going to betray us, wouldn't you want him where you could keep an eye on him?"

Mythril and Mallet both said nothing. Edwynn could see that Brogan was hurt by what he said, but it didn't matter. It appeared that the knight and druid were going to concede the point. They would stay together. That was what was most important. He could smooth out any ruffled feathers later, if he survived.

"Besides, we still don't know where the coven is." Edwynn added.

At that point all four of his companions turned and looked up at the building behind him. Edwynn turned and followed their gaze.

The Slaughtered Lamb had always been an ugly bar. Set back away from the street, it seemed to have a perpetual shadow across its façade. Now however, that façade was augmented by a shattered doorway, with the hinges torn clear out of the wooden frame. The door itself lay in two halves, cleanly bisected, with the wood smoldering slightly. Above the threshold letters had recently been burned into the building's face. Thin wisps of acrid smoke rose from them. They were in an ancient, alien language.

Edwynn turned to Brogan. "What do the words say?"

"I don't know." The warlock responded. "I can't read them."

"I can." Mythril said. "It is written in Kalamdori, the ancient language of my people. It reads: _Enter not this portal, for the taint has taken root here. All within have been judged as wicked and must be purged. Only fire and death await those unclean. So says Colberthas, slayer of Demons._"


	26. Descent

Chapter 25 – Descent

"Guess we didn't need Brogan to show us how to get here after all." Edwynn said.

"Well he's here, so it makes no difference." Myrista said. She turned to Mythril. "Do you think Colberthas will help us find the book?" Mythril said nothing. She merely stared at the door to the inn with an unhappy expression. Edwynn noted that her ears had dropped lower than he had ever seen them.

"What's wrong?" The rogue asked. The druid still did not answer. "Mythril?" Edwynn prompted again. The night elf set her jaw and took a deep breath.

"Colberthas will most likely kill anyone he encounters within the compound. This will include all of you. Your standings as warriors and priestesses of Stormwind mean nothing to him. He will smell the taint on Brogan instantly, and will suffer no excuse to allow him to live. Our only hope would be if we could somehow avoid detection. Against a demon hunter, that is all but impossible."

"Hey, you underestimate me." Edwynn said cheerfully. "I've been training. He'll never see me coming."

"He will not see you coming because he has no eyes." Mythril glared at the rogue sternly. "He stabbed them out with the fires of Jadenaar nearly a millennium ago. Now he has the demon-vision. He is aware of everything around him at all times. He hears colors, tastes odors, and can smell evil. He has tracked fel-sworn from the ruins of Azshara through the wastes of Desolace to the endless Silthid sands. If we enter the coven and encounter Colberthas, it will mean our deaths."

"Maybe we should wait out here then." Edwynn offered without being serious. "He can kill everyone and then we can go in and get the book."

"No." Brogan added. "This is part of the leader's plan. He has something special in mind for the demon hunter. We have to go in there."

"Alright, enough stalling." Mallet went to his horse and untied his shield from where it rested behind the saddle. Raising Godkend, his two-handed war hammer, over his head he spoke several words in dwarvish. The weapon glowed and its head shrank. The shaft diminished in size until the knight could hold it casually in his right hand. He secured the shield to his left arm.

"That's a nice trick." Edwynn muttered.

"The knights of the Silver Hand must be able to play many roles. But it will be difficult for me to use magic when I'm toe to toe with the enemy. I'm counting on you Myrista, to keep everyone else alive."

Myrista said nothing, but Edwynn instantly noticed her expression. It was the one she wore back home when uncle Korban would force her to do something she didn't want. Suddenly the rogue found himself wondering as to how hard she would be trying to keep him alive.

"Brogan I want you in the rear with Myrista. It will be your duty to defend her from anything that gets past me. I don't want you using your demonic magic unless you absolutely have to. And here, take this…" the knight had been taking items from his saddlebag and placing them in a small knapsack. He handed this to Brogan.

"What's in here?"

"Things I hope we won't need. Bandages, moonberry juice, trolls blood potions. You can never be too careful."

Edwynn fidgeted nervously. "What do you want me to do?"

"You've proven that you can handle yourself in a fight. Stay out of sight while the enemy focuses on me. Then… do what you do. Mythril, I'd like you…"

"I know how best to use my own abilities, Sir Mallius."

The paladin seemed about to argue with her, but then decided against it. "Alright, let's go." Mallet stepped forward, ascended the stairs, and slowly led the way into the tavern. Edwynn readied both his own knife and Rosie's, and followed slowly behind.

Inside the Slaughtered Lamb was a scene from a nightmare. Blood drenched the walls and disemboweled corpses littered the floor. Furniture was smashed and overturned. The air stank of sulfur and spilled alcohol. Against his will Edwynn found himself remembering the first night in Northshire, when he found the people near Crownguard manor slaughtered. It took all his will not to vomit.

Myrista didn't have that willpower. She took one step through the doorway, turned, and emptied her stomach outside on the façade. Brogan rushed to her side and, helpless to assist in any other way, held her hair back to prevent it from getting in the way. Mallet's face was grim, but he stood firm in the center of the room. Mythril was examining the position and disposition of the bodies with a great deal of interest.

"This is most unusual." She said. "The humans here seem to have died fighting each other. This warlock here for example, bares the mark of the twilight hammer. But he and these two men in Defias masks seem to have been torn to pieces by some creature."

"Colberthas?" Mallet offered. "He looked strong enough."

"No. The demon hunter's attacks are precise. He views combat like a surgery, or a dance. Every move is calculated in advance. These men were torn apart by something savage. Some monster or…"

She stopped as a low snarling noise came from a corner. Edwynn held up both knives as a demonic abomination detached itself from a shadow. The thing was horrible. Its body was the size and shape of a large dog, and its monstrous head gaped open revealing a mouth with hundreds of needle-sharp teeth. Its hide was a horrible red and black color, like diseased flesh. It walked on all fours, and had a short thick tail, like a lizard. A warped mane of black tendrils sprang from its neck and it possessed no eyes. From its shoulder blades sprang two tentacles that curled forward like scorpion tails.

"A felstalker!" Mallet yelled. "Don't let it…"

The paladin never finished his sentence as the beast lashed out with its tentacles. Blue fire erupted from the paladin's skin and he screamed horribly as he fell. Mythril chanted and green energy enveloped her hands. The beast flexed its tentacles again and the druid crumbled, her face a mask of agony.

Then it turned its head towards Edwynn.

Not knowing what else to do, the rogue reversed his grip on Rosie's knife and threw it at the monster. The weapon was too heavy and didn't fly correctly. It struck the leathery hide of the monster and clattered to the floor harmlessly. The thick tentacles flexed in Edwynn's direction.

Nothing happened.

The animal growled and its teeth parted. A long leathery tongue spilled out, and drool hissed as it hit the floorboards. It sucked in the air, lowered itself slightly, and then jumped at him.

At the pinnacle of its arc through the air the monster's skin suddenly burst into flames. The fireball of a creature landed on Edwynn just as the rogue stabbed upwards with his knife. The blade caught the creature at the bottom of its enormous chin and its own momentum forced its mouth closed. The felstalker squealed in pain and clawed at Edwynn, ripping the sleeves on his arms to shreds. With all his strength Edwynn pushed the dagger as deep as possible into the monster's head, hoping to hit its brain. The result kept the beast's mouth closed and forced it to continue using its claws. The fire on its skin continued to burn and it began thrashing wildly. It twisted and heaved and suddenly it was off Edwynn and scrambling to its feet.

Brogan and Myrista stood near the door. Myrista's hands glowed with the power of the light. Edwynn smiled at the idea that she was using her magic to heal him. But instead she gestured at the creature. It glowed from within for a moment, filled to bursting with the power of the light. Then it screamed and collapsed.

At the last second of its life, Brogan threw his hands forward in a clutching motion. Evil, violet energy rose from the felstalker's corpse like smoke. That energy swirled and twisted like a fog, forming the shape of the demon that had died. It hung in the air for a moment, and Edwynn imagined that the mist was alive and confused by its newfound incorporeal state. Then the warlock's hands beckoned and the mist drifted towards him on unseen winds. It twisted and panicked, opening its mouth in a silent scream of terror. Then the mist collapsed and coalesced into a tiny ball in Brogan's hand. It rested there a moment, then crystallized into a tiny purple shard.

"Was that… its soul?" Myrista asked.

"A fraction of it, yes." Brogan did not look happy. He glanced up at Mallet and Mythril lying on the ground. "The felstalker's manaburn should only have stunned them."

Myrista stepped over to her uncle and knelt next to him. Brogan approached Edwynn. He opened the bag and pulled out a roll of bandages.

"What the heck was that thing?" Edwynn asked.

"A felstalker. A kind of hellhound. They feed on magic, and can disable wizards or priests pretty effectively. They can take a spell caster's own magical energy and use it against them as a weapon."

"Good thing I don't use magic." Edwynn held up his arms and Brogan began to dress his wounds. The scratches were not deep, but the creature's claws had been hideous and filthy. "You think that thing infected me?"

"I'm not sure. I've only read about them in books. Thank you, by the way. If it had seen Myrista and me, it would have killed us pretty quickly. Your keeping it distracted allowed us the time we needed to cast our spells."

"Yeah, well anytime you need someone to be your meat shield, you know who to call." Edwynn winced in pain as Brogan tied off the bandages. "Was that purple thing really its soul? What are you going to do with it?"

"Demons are not of this world. They need to consume the souls of others in order to remain here. Much of a warlock's power comes from the harvesting and bartering of souls. I can call a demon, and offer it a soul in exchange for its obedience. Or I can craft the soul into a gem that can…"

"You will do nothing of the kind!" Mallet yelled. He had risen from where he had fallen. Aside from looking pale in his face and weak at the knees, he seemed fine. But his eyes held a cold fury. "Brogan, I told you not to use any of your blasphemous magics unless you had to!"

"Hey! My blasphemous magics just saved Edwynn's life!"

"Stealing the souls of the dying in not necessary for our survival."

"You don't understand. Watch." Brogan held up the soul shard. Muttering under his breath, he stared at the gem intensely. The stone began to grow and stretch, like a glassblower's bottle. Slowly it formed a perfect sphere four inches across and slightly translucent, like a soap bubble.

"With this soulstone I can actually interrupt death. It creates a spectral web around your essence, and if you or Myrista gets killed, it will capture your soul and prevent…"

"No!" Mallet rushed forward and batted the crystal aside. It shattered the instant it hit the floor, the pieces fading like a dream.

"I don't care what it is and I don't care what it does! You will never perform such heresy in my sight again!"

"Uncle, he's trying to help us!"

"I don't care if he can summon Lothar back from the grave! The souls of men are not currency to be bartered like animal pelts at market!"

Myrista would not back down. "You can hardly condemn him for using the soul of a demon that would not have stopped trying to kill us until it died."

The paladin turned to her, his fury fully built. "Don't you understand? This is how it starts, how the demons draw you in. First it's the souls of your enemies, or wild beasts. But then you graduate to more powerful magics, ones that require more souls. So warlocks begin to seek out foes to slay. No longer are you content to defend yourself, you take the battle to your enemies. At first, there are plenty of wicked to slay, but soon the weaker ones are gone, and the evil ones that remain are too strong, put up too much struggle. It becomes much easier to prey on the defenseless. And now your spells are more powerful, requiring more specific kinds of souls. The souls of the innocent, of virgins, or of children. But you try to justify it in the name of greater and greater power. No! It has to stop here! I will not loose another…" Mallet stopped suddenly.

"Another what?" Myrista asked.

Mallet said nothing. He surveyed the group. Mythril was back on her feet. Edwynn had recovered his knives. Everyone was looking at him.

"We've wasted enough time." He said. "Lets go."

"Uncle, what were you about to…"

"I said we're moving!" The paladin turned and marched towards the rear of the inn. He didn't seem to care if anyone followed him.

Brogan scrambled after him and the rest of them followed. The next room was a filthy, foul-smelling kitchen. Between the sausages and meat pies were scattered human remains. Myrista would almost certainly have lost her stomach again if she had not already done so.

"There." Brogan pointed to an open pantry door. Mallet stepped up and peered inside.

"The way is narrow. Move in single-file. Leave two arm-lengths between you and the man in front of you."

"I will go first." Mythril did not wait for an answer before her body transformed into a cat. She moved forward and vanished instantly into the darkness. Mallet frowned after her. "Edwynn, you're at the rear. Brogan, you're behind me. If anything happens you need to keep Myrista safe."

"I can take care of…"

"Let's go." Without waiting for anything else Mallet marched forward and down the tunnel. Brogan followed immediately. Myrista fumed red.

"Why does he keep treating me like a child?" she asked Edwynn.

"Probably because you're acting like one."

"What do you think he meant by that comment about losing someone again?"

"Lothar's blood, will you focus please?" Edwynn gestured to the body parts scattered around the kitchen. "Now go, they're getting ahead of us." Myrista made an unhappy face but moved to catch up to Brogan. Edwynn slipped in behind her.

The tunnel began sloping down almost immediately. Walls of hard-packed earth gave way to coarse stone, then bedrock. They descended for several minutes, and Edwynn began to wonder how deep they would need to go. Luckily the tunnel joined another, and then a third. It widened and the ceiling grew higher. At last the floor leveled out and they arrived at a wooden set of double-doors, similar to the ones someone might see at a church. The doors were opened and several bodies piled on either side. Mythril and Mallet stood over one stack of corpses, while Brogan hovered to the side, looking quite worried.

"It doesn't make any sense." The druid mused. "These Defias and Twilight Hammer warlocks appear to have died fighting against the warlocks of Stormwind's coven. The Defias won, and stationed guards here, presumably to cover their retreat. The majority of the attacking force then moved through the doors and descended deeper into the complex. The rear guards here were apparently surprised by Colberthas, who promptly cut them down like wheat."

The paladin looked at the positions of the bodies and scratched his tuft of white beard. "Brogan, you said the warlock's leader knew Colberthas was coming?"

The warlock nodded.

"Well, the coven didn't seem to put up much of a fight. Maybe his plan was to lure his enemies into fighting each other. That way Colberthas eliminates a rival clan of warlocks, and is weakened enough so that he can…"

There was a roar, distant and inhuman, that swept through the tunnel. It echoed from all sides, but seemed to originate within the complex.

"What was that?" Mallet asked.

"I don't know." Brogan replied. "I've never heard anything like it."

The old soldier's eyes scanned the corridor ahead. "Through the doors this hallway is wider than the last one. Move two by two. Edwynn up here on my right. Brogan behind him, Myrista behind me. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you."

"No instructions for me, human?" Mythril asked.

"Would you obey any I gave you?"

"Perhaps… if they were reasonable." The druid stated. She then melted back into her cat form and slipped up the tunnel ahead of them.

Mallet watched her go sullenly. "Damn elves. At least the highborne knew how to be soldiers." The paladin led them through the doors and further up the tunnel.

Edwynn hadn't really known what to expect from the interior of the warlock coven. In his imagination he had seen walls draped in black tapestries and icons of worship to the dark powers in every corner. The actual location was surprisingly sparse. Simple stone walls ceiling, and an uncarpeted floor were all that greeted them. At several points hallways branched away to the left and right, but Mallet continued to follow was seemed to be the primary thoroughfare. After three such hallway junctions Edwynn began to hear sounds: the screams of men and the clash of steel.

The hallway came to an abrupt end at an archway. The party crept forward and saw what lay beyond it.

A round room, a kind of amphitheater, lay before them. Warlocks in black robes battled men in red masks. But it was the room's central occupant that drew everyone's immediate attention. Nearly fifteen feet tall, a monstrous demon towered over mortal combatants. Its skin was a fetid blue-green, like rotted meat. Its arms and chest were bare, and powerful muscles rippled beneath their surface. In one hand it held an impossibly large sword. It roared and shook the walls of the underground temple. The monster swung its massive weapon and killed three Defias at once.

"Slay them! Slay them all, my pet!" A warlock behind the demon cried with glee. Brogan recognized Gakin immediately. The coven's second in command pointed and the demon's sword cut down another set of Defias thieves. The remaining bandits and Twilight Hammer cultists panicked and began to flee. All but one. That figure stood with its back to the party, a heavy cloak obscuring its features. The monstrous demon closed in for the kill.

"Why doesn't he run?" Edwynn whispered. "The beast will slay him."

"No." Brogan choked. His throat constricting with fear. "She's the leader of the Twilight Hammer assault. She fears no demon."

The cloaked figure threw back her hood. Not a single hair marked her scarred and malformed skin. She looked up at the demon and its charge instantly stopped. It looked at the woman and began to blink and shake its head, as though waking from a dream.

"She's breaking my control!" Gakin screamed. "The felguard is loose. My brothers, run for your lives!"

The remaining members of Stormwind's coven fled as the giant demon roared in fury. It turned to Gakin, who was racing towards one of the exits. Reaching down, the colossus grabbed a bisected human corpse from the ground and threw it at his former master. Gakin ducked at the last minute and managed to slip out of the room. The creature made to follow.

"Hold! My pet, we have other guests." The scarred woman commanded. Her voice carried an echo, like two people speaking at once. "Some old friends have come to join us." The figure turned and faced the party.

Edwynn's mouth opened in shock and Myrista screamed out loud. The figure was a corpse. Dead at least a week, with rotted skin and white, sightless eyes. But still Edwynn recognized her as Onessa, the Twilight Hammer witch who had led the assault on Crownguard manor. Her body charred, and all of her hair burned off in the fire that had claimed her life.

"How… we saw her die!" Myrista covered her mouth in horror.

"No child, you saw me born!" Onessa's body raised her left arm. Unlike the rest of her carcass, this limb was alive. The flesh was vibrantly pink and her nails blood red. The arm stopped just past the elbow, crudely stitched to the corpse. That living hand pointed at Brogan.

"I offered you fame and power, Brogan Maguskhaur. Have you come to accept it, my husband? Have you come to kneel and swear fealty to Balba'yorn, the bridge builder of the Burning Legion?"


	27. Secret Reasons

Chapter 27 – Secret Reasons.

"I thought the demoness was trapped in the book?"

"Yeah, well, some of the pages got burned and I guess a little bit of her leaked out." Edwynn answered the paladin.

The corpse smiled at them. Charred grey lips peeling back to reveal backed cracked teeth. "Step forward warriors. It is time for you to serve the purpose for which I have summoned you here."

Myrista seemed confused. "You summoned…"

"Surely you do not imagine that the circumstances that have brought your little band to this moment, to this place, are coincidence. I can see into your hearts as easily as you might see into a glass cabinet. You imagine yourselves here in pursuit of justice, or of the greater good. But each of you harbors a secret reason for coming. Perhaps it is greed…" The corpse seemed to shift its gaze to Edwynn. "… or perhaps lust for power…" she glanced at Myrista. "… or redemption." Her head tilted still more to lock sightless eyes on Mallet.

"Perhaps you seek freedom, or revenge. Whatever your secret reasons, you have come. You have no hope of survival or of victory by force of arms. You must see that you are pawns in a game played by higher life-forms. Accept your roles. Know that you are here because I promised each of you your hearts desires, and that you cannot hope to achieve these things without my aid. Join me. Help me slay the leader of this warlock coven. Do this, and all that you desire can be yours."

Edwynn was only half listening. When Balba'yorn had said 'greed' the rogue's mind had been bombarded with images. Lady Prestor's offer of lands and titles. He remembered the way Myrista had looked at him when she first recognized him in the prison, wearing noblemen's cloths. How he felt at the idea of being elevated out of the gutter, of being more than a peon's son. He glanced at the others. Myrista's pale face was bone white. Brogan's brow was knitted together in a cold fury. Mallet was muttering under his breath: "It can't be true… it can't." Of Mythril, nothing could be seen.

"Join me." The corpse smiled. "You have no choice."

"Uncle…" Myrista began.

The paladin's eyes were on the demon towering next to Balba'yorn. "I don't think we can defeat a felguard. Besides, there's more at risk here than you children realize. I think we should consider…"

"She's lying." Brogan said.

The smile on Balba'yorn's face froze there. "You are making a mistake husband."

Brogan stared hard at the corpse's dead face. "Am I? We have a bond, demoness. You're afraid. Weak and afraid. I can feel it. You need us."

"Defy me at your peril. You'll never leave this place alive without…"

Brogan threw up his hand and uttered a spell at the demoness. The undead creature was suddenly encased in a glowing green shell. Her body became semi-transparent. Her jaw dropped in shock, mirroring Brogan's own expression.

"There's no way that should have worked." The warlock muttered.

The felguard roared, shaking the very foundations of Stormwind. Raising its weapon, he charged forward at Brogan. Faster than one would think possible it brought the half-ton of iron down to cut the boy in half.

In that second the paladin was between them. He raised his shield just as the sword crushed down on him. There was a flash of golden light and impossibly the felguard's blade stopped. Iron rang out and sparks fell from the blade. The sparks cascaded down around the paladin, silhouetting an invisible bubble of divine protection encasing him. The enraged felguard swung again and again, its weapon crashing against the paladin's magic shell, unable to penetrate. But each blow was taking its toll on Mallet. The paladin held his shield upraised, and with every thunderous blow his arm shuddered. He would not be able to last much longer.

As the beast grew more and more angry, it became more and more reckless. Each swing was timed identically, and as the great sword descended a third time, Edwynn struck.

Charging forward with both hands Edwynn thrust just as the giant brought his weapon down. Both knives stabbed into the back of its hand, severing muscles and nerves alike. The felguard was so enraged that it didn't even notice. As the monster drew its hand up and away, Edwynn pulled backwards, raking the top of the giants hand and severing all the tendons in its fingers. Those fingers, nerveless and unusable, attempted to raise the sword again. But the weapon slipped from its grasp. The demon did not even notice until it swung again. Without the great weight of the blade, the creature overextended itself and almost pitched forward.

Mallet struck at that moment. Swinging his magic hammer, he smashed the giant in the head. It was a direct blow, square to the face. The demon shuddered, but only grew angrier.

Edwynn heard chanting from Myrista and Brogan, but he didn't have time to see what they were doing. The monster was bent forward, focusing exclusively on the paladin, and didn't seem to care about anything else. Edwynn circled behind it and began slashing at the back of its legs. Wide plates of demonic iron needlessly protected its blue skin. Edwynn stabbed and carved with his weapons, but the armor was too thick. After what seemed like an eternity the monster stood up, causing the metal plates to shift and reveal an opening behind its knees. With all of his might Edwynn thrust at the creature's skin but could barely penetrate its leathery hide. Still, he pushed forward, sawing and hacking like a woodsman at a tree.

The felguard, having dropped its weapon, swung its great fists at Mallet. The paladin, his magic bubble expended, used his shield and hammer to bat them aside, which only enraged the creature further. The knight was doing no real damage to it, and after a couple seconds the demon managed to catch the paladin's arm with one of its hands. Roaring in triumph, the creature stood and raised the knight over his head. The paladin chanted words of magic and holy energy flowed from his body into the demon's hand.

The felguard just smiled. With both hands it began attempting to crush the knight.

"You see husband…" Two voices spoke as one as Balba'yorn broke free of Brogan's spell. "You cannot harm my new pet. Surrender and I will tell it to only slay the knight. Your defiance cannot… yeargah!"

There was a blur of black fur and white teeth. Jaws closed around Balba'yorn's living flesh arm and claws tore ferociously. The animated corpse screamed as the stitching holding its arm to its body gave way to the assault. The black jaguar twisted, pulled, and finally she placed both legs against Balba'yorn's torso. With a mighty thrash the living arm was ripped whole away from the corpse. The dead body fell to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The arm, alive and well, squirmed in Mythril's mouth as it attempted to escape.

With the loss of its master the felguard became enraged. It flung Mallet aside and the knight fell like a meteor to the earth. The demon turned towards Mythril and stepped toward the druid just as Edwynn finished hacking away enough armor and skin to expose its lateral tendon. The giant lifted a leg, but upon stepping forward it collapsed down onto one knee. Undeterred, it began crawling towards its quarry at breakneck speeds. Mythril turned and dashed away as fast as possible.

"Uncle Mallet! Uncle Mallet get up!" Myrista cried as she ran to where the knight had landed. Mallet groaned in pain. His massive plate mail chest piece had been crushed and the steel panels were warped and deformed. Blood oozed from several metal sheets that had been driven into his skin.

"Flee…" the knight moaned.

But Myrista would do no such thing. Turning to the monster, her beautiful face twisted into a mask of anger. She began screaming words of magic. The felguard, obsessed with catching Mythril, heard the words and turned to face her. There was a single instant of fear in its eyes.

Myrista thrust out her hand and a brilliant stream of blue energy raced from her palm to her victim. The felguard was struck in the forehead. The energy continued to poor into the creature and its entire head began to glow. Not the warm golden glow that would accompany the healing magics Edwynn had seen before. This was a sinister blue radiance that built and built. The felguard screamed as mystical fire began to burn within its skull. It opened its mouth and blue flames could be seen burning inside its head. Seconds later the same blue fire began to pour from its eyes, nostrils, and ears. Myrista sneered and pushed more energy into the demon.

The creature's face literally began to melt.

"By the Light…" Edwynn muttered.

"Die… Die!" Myrista muttered. The felguard's entire head was on fire now. It flailed wildly, clawing at its own face and screaming in agony. It began crawling in their direction, swinging its arms about as burning flesh and melted skin dripped to the floor. After what seemed like an eternity the demon fell forward, struggled to rise for a moment, and then collapsed in death.

Myrista dropped her hands and the blue energy beam vanished. She swooned for a moment before collapsing to her knees, panting in exhaustion. Edwynn kept his weapons out, remaining faced towards the demons' corpse. He half-expected it to get back up. After it remained motionless for several seconds the rogue finally lowered his guard and turned towards the priestess.

"What was that?"

Myrista said nothing. She merely gasped for breath and shivering uncontrollably. Mythril's sleek black form appeared from the shadows next to her. The severed human arm still clutched in its teeth. The animal dropped the limb to the ground before transforming back into her purple-skinned humanoid form.

"That was the foulest of black magics." Mythril towered over the shivering girl. Almost as an afterthought she stepped on Balba'yorn's wrist, pinning the demon's arm to the floor. "Among the priestesses of the moon, use of the Mind Flay is strictly forbidden. It is a cruel and wicked magic, used by only the cruelest and most wicked dark priests. Even in times of war or dire need, to cast such a spell would result in permanent and irrevocable exile. Surely you did not learn such magic at the cathedral of Light?"

"No!" Myrista sobbed. "I learned it from Brother Crowley… from the Scarlet Crusade. He told me… he told me that I would never be weak again. I could use it to burn the wicked, to destroy the unjust."

"Indeed you have." Mythril glanced at the demon's corpse. "This creature would certainly have slain us all if you had not. I'm certain your uncle would have been proud."

With that Myrista gasped and leapt to her feet. She crossed the short distance to where Mallet lay bleeding from his wounds. The distraught young woman knelt over the knight's body and quickly checked his pulse.

"He's alive!" She exclaimed.

"Oh?" Mythril's ears sprang up in surprise. Edwynn himself gasped and came to his side. Indeed, Mallius Crownguard was not only alive, but conscious. His niece whispered words of magic and her hands glowed faintly.

"I don't... have the strength…" the priestess gasped, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes. "Mythril help me!"

The druid stood there, her expression unreadable. "I think it would be best if I did not. We may need my magic for the journey back to the surface…"

"What? Are you crazy?!? Heal him!" Myrista screamed.

"You are not thinking logically. If we flee now there's a chance…"

"To the legion with you!" Myrista leapt to her feet. "If that were you bleeding on the floor he wouldn't hesitate for a second!"

"That is why elves are superior to humans. We think before we act."

Brogan stepped forward. "Mythril please…"

"Mythril, we need him." Edwynn added.

The druid looked at the three adolescents. She sighed and her ears did a funny twist that Edwynn took as a gesture of surrender. She kneeled down and touched the knight's forehead. The druid chanted and green energy flowed from her fingers to the knight's body. Mallet groaned and seemed to gain strength, but his face contorted in even more pain.

"It's the armor." Brogan stated. "We have to get it off of him."

The two boys began prying at the straps and buckles that held Mallet's breastplate on. With a few cuts of Edwynn's knife the restraints fell away. Carefully they pulled the large steel center piece off of him and Edwynn tossed it aside. It rang out and the sound echoed across the amphitheater. The noise drew a harsh look from the druid.

"We already stayed too long. We must move soon!"

"Just… give me a second…" Mallet grimaced as he removed a three inch steel plate from his side. He was obviously in great pain, but he simply ground his teeth and took shallow, hissing breaths. "Brogan… the bag."

The warlock stared at the paladin blankly for a moment, and then removed the satchel Mallet had given him before they had entered the Slaughtered Lamb. Mallet took the bag and removed from it a black bottle. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he poured the thick liquid down his throat with a grimace.

"Was that…?" Myrista asked.

"Troll's blood, yes." Mallet made an unhappy face as he smacked his lips. "Hard to get, even harder to drink. But it will give me the regenerative powers of that foul race. I'll be fine in an hour, if we can stop the bleeding."

Without another word Myrista dove into the satchel and pulled out a thick wad of bandages. Silently she pressed them against Mallet's ribs and began to dress his wounds.

"Hurry" the druid stated impatiently. "Myrista and I will lead the way while you two carry him. We must escape before more warlocks…"

"We're not leaving." Mallet hissed as his niece tied his bandage.

"We must! Myrista and I have spent our magical reserves keeping you alive. The dew of the morning glory is gone, and your bottles of moonberry juice are suitable for children or apprentices. We could not confront an imp, much less a felstalker or something worse. If we stay we will surely die."

"Wait a minute." Edwynn glared hard at the night elf. "That's not why you want to leave."

Mythril did not respond. Edwynn noted that her ears were turned down. Brogan and Myrista looked at Edwynn in confusion.

"Balba'yorn said that we each had a reason for coming. A secret reason. Well mine's no secret. Lady Prestor promised me lands and wealth in exchange for the book. And Brogan's is obvious; he needs to be free of her. Myrista, well she…"

"She promised me power. Magical power and…" Myrista glanced at Brogan, her cheeks burning. "…other things. She said she could reunite me with my father, and that he would never leave again."

Brogan was about to say something, but Edwynn cut her off. "What about you Mythril? What did the demon offer you?"

The night elf said nothing, her face a mask of guilt. Despite her years Edwynn was overcome with the sensation that he was lecturing a small girl. "I… Night Elves are not vulnerable to demonic influences. She didn't…"

"Stop lying." Mallet said with more malice than he meant to. The pain was leaving him with little patience. The druid's facade shattered before his tone and she looked like she was about to cry.

"Not long ago… well… about a human lifetime… there was a village in Ashenvale called Night Run. A friend from my childhood lived there, along with many dryads and grove keepers. Reports came to the Cenarion Circle that a satyr named Zenn Foulhoof had taken refuge in that village. He was asking for sanctuary from the druids in exchange for information about another satyr leader named Lord Raze. I was sent to make contact, and negotiate the terms for the information.

"But Colberthas… he had heard of Foulhoof as well. He considered all satyrs to be demonic abominations. In his eyes anyone who sheltered a satyr was in league with the legion. When I arrived… they were dead. All of them. The dryads, the keepers, my friend… all of them. The village was gone. Colberthas has laid waste to it all. Every building, every structure. Even the sacred moonwell was destroyed."

"The druids allowed this?" Mallet asked. "Colberthas went unpunished?"

"Of course not. But the sentence of death was suspended, mostly because none of the wardens felt themselves powerful enough to bring him in alone. We elves had grown complacent in our immortality. It is difficult for us to undertake action that we know may result in our deaths. The cost in elven blood for the capturing Colberthas would have been quite high. And so the Cenarion Circle simply exiled him to the Eastern Kingdoms. He was banished from the slopes of Mount Hyjal, never to return. However, some of us were not satisfied with this decision. I was among them.

"I… I wanted revenge. The circle still thought Colberthas could be a useful tool against evil, but I saw what he had truly become. He is more demon than Kaldorei now. He enjoys his work, relishes in the carnage. I knew that he would never stop spilling blood as long as he was alive. Balba'yorn saw this in me." The night elf twisted her ankle sharply, driving her heel into the disembodied arm. "The demoness visited me in my dream. She appeared in the guise of my childhood friend, but I knew who she was. She offered me a chance for revenge. All I had to do was come here, with you. Colberthas would be here, she said. He would be weakened from fighting the coven and the twilight hammer. He would be vulnerable, and the opportunity for vengeance would be mine."

No one said anything for a time. Then Mallet extended a hand and Edwynn helped him to his feet. Whatever that potion was, it appeared to be working, but not very quickly. He stood for a moment with Edwynn supporting one side and the other using his hammer as a crutch. Holding his hand against his side, he muttered words of healing magic. The glow from his hand was faint, but his breathing eased somewhat. He took his weight off the rogue.

"Uncle, you're still weak. You should rest some more."

"I'm just old." He hoisted his hammer onto his shoulder with a grunt. "Mythril is right, we can't stay here."

"Then you agree, we must return to the surface at once."

"Our work here is not done. You are free to leave if you wish."

The night elf stared hard at the paladin. "What about you? What is your secret reason for coming?"

Mallet took a couple of steps to where his crushed breastplate lay useless on the ground. He sighed and glanced at the shield. It was dented from the felguard's battering, but otherwise serviceable. The knight ground his teeth somewhat, and then looked around the room towards the exits. He seemed to pick one at random and began walking towards it. "Let's go."

"I asked…"

"I heard you." The knight did not slow his pace as he began to speak. "Eight months ago I was in Lordaeron, battling the scourge. One of the problems with fighting the undead is that you're never really sure when you've actually killed one. A lot of times you'll stab one and it will just pretend and go limp. Then when you've turned around it gets back up and knifes you in the back. If you burn them they just wait until only their bones are left and then get up. You see, they can regenerate their bodies by consuming the flesh of others.

"So about eight months ago my commander summoned me to our base camp south of Andorhal. There he introduced me to someone, an old friend of mine who I hadn't seen in many years. I thought I knew him, but in the years since I had left home he had changed. He had been sent from Stormwind and was an expert on the study of necromancy and warlock magic. He told me that he had discovered a process to rip the souls from the forsaken's undead corpses. Once the soul was captured this way, the body would fall and never rise again. My commander was skeptical. He didn't trust the warlock. Because of our past, I vouched for him and volunteered to undertake a mission to prove whether the method worked or not.

"We set out the next morning for Dalson's Tear, a small homestead that had been overrun by the scourge and which now contained a large population of undead. We ambushed one of their patrols and the warlock used his magic to drain the souls of the Lich King's slaves. The process worked. We eliminated four more patrols and returned to base. We didn't even loose one man. It was a good day."

Mallet had led them out one of the exits from the amphitheater and down a wide corridor. After two intersections Brogan recognized where they were. "Wait this way leads to the apprentice quarters. That way there, it leads to the leader's private quarters and the portal chamber."

"The portal chamber?" Edwynn repeated. "Sounds lovely."

"They use it for summoning and entrapping the most powerful demons." Brogan said.

Mallet glanced at the severed arm in Mythril's hand. "Or perhaps… demon hunters."

"What happened next, sir Mallius?" Edwynn asked.

"Oh, high command was ecstatic. The ability to permanently destroy the undead was a dream come true. A major offensive to reclaim the town of Corin's Crossing was planned. But the weather had turned bitterly cold and there was a heavy rain the morning of the assault. The commander called off the attack. The warlock was furious. He needed the souls harvested from this attack for some… other ritual. One that could only be performed at a particular conjunction of astrological bodies. He flew into a rage, but the commander was resolute. The attack was called off, rescheduled for two days later.

"That night I was awoken from a horrible dream by the camps alarm bells. Three men were dead. Their hair turned white, their clothing corroded and decayed. It was the work of the warlock, we all knew it. He was nowhere to be found, and because I had vouched for him, all eyes fell on me. We split into teams to search for him. I knew where he had gone but… I couldn't believe he was capable of it. It was a simple matter to slip away from the others in my search party. I went off alone to confront him. And when I arrived, he was waiting for me.

"When I found him, or more correctly when he let me find him, he admitted that he murdered those men. And he challenged me to do something about it. Me, who had dedicated my life to the pursuit of justice…, I faltered. I let him go. He slipped away into the night and I haven't seen him since. The next day I retired my commission, quit the army, took my horse and my hammer and left. I came home. But it took longer than I had hoped. There were some loose ends I had to tie up."

"I do not understand." Mythril said. "How does this relate to Balba'yorn and the coven?"

"Today is my chance for redemption. He is here. The man from my past. Balba'yorn promised me the opportunity to kill him. If I am not weak…"

"But you are weak, human!"

The party spun as the voice boomed through the hallway. Behind them stood Colberthas. The demon hunter had to crouch just to fit into the hallway. Myrista would have sworn that he was even larger now than the last time they had seen him. He was covered with blood, most of it black, some of it red. His pants were shredded and his skin was broken and bleeding. Most horrific, his blindfold had been removed. Where his eyes should have been were blackened pits, burned out and scarred-over long ago.

Mythril stepped forward. She clutched Balba'yorn's arm to her chest. She began speaking rapidly in the elven tongue. Colberthas dismissed her at once.

"They should have listened to you Queren. By violating the marker they have shown themselves to be allies of the Legion. And that one…" The male night elf pointed to Brogan, "…has already sullied his soul. Be thankful mortals. I have come to release you from your worldly burdens."

"You're making a mistake." Mallet said. "We are not your enemies. We have come to destroy a great evil."

"Destroy it you say? Because I am blind does not mean I cannot see. You carry the evil with you. The arm of Balba'yorn. Give it to me at once!"

"Why?" Myrista asked. "What will you do with it?"

"It is the key to my ascension. No more will I be in Stormrage's shadow. For a thousand years I roamed free while Illidan was imprisoned. By consuming the skull of Gul'dan he attained a new level of power and I too must ascend if I am to defeat him. I will destroy Balba'yorn and in doing so take her powers for my own. I will surpass all of Elune's children, and become the most powerful creature on Azeroth.

"He's insane." Mallet muttered.

"Just picking up on that, eh?" Edwynn muttered. He glanced up and down the hallway. Colberthas had them trapped. The demon hunter began advancing towards them, snarling. "We need to get out of here." Facing the enemy, the rogue began backing down the hall towards the portal room.

"Run!" Mythril screamed and tossed Balba'yorn's arm to Myrista. She then turned and dove towards the demon hunter. In the blink of an eye her body swelled into a massive bear. Colberthas swung one of his warglaves and its blade bit deeply into her side.

Edwynn ran to help her, but Mallet grabbed the boy's coat and began dragging him towards the portal room. Myrista and Brogan were already ahead of them.

"We have to help her!" Edwynn yelled.

"Fool! She's buying us time with her life!" Mallet half threw Edwynn ahead of them into the next chamber.

The portal room seemed like a smaller version of the amphitheater. The floor was sunken somewhat, with a mystic glowing circle imbedded in it. Edwynn knew nothing about what the runes meant, but it reminded him of the holding circle used on Brogan in Stormwind keep. Around the edge of the room were various tables with arcane books and potions brewing.

"There's no way out!" Myrista said. From the hallway there was an animal scream of pain and then silence.

"Over there!" Mallet pointed to a thick curtain on the far side of the room. The four of them raced to it. Brogan got there first and pulled the drape aside. Behind it was a full length mirror. It showed three terrified adolescents, one tired old man, and behind them, an enraged demon hunter, his warglaves dripping with fresh blood.


	28. Full Circle

Chapter 27 – Full Circle

Colberthas entered the portal chamber and stretched to his full height, towering over the four humans. He stood there silently for a moment, the fresh blood on his warglaves dripping to the ground. Each weapon was a half-moon of steel four feet long and probably thirty pounds. Then he began circling around the edge of the room, staying close to the tables with their books and beakers of liquid, carefully avoiding the center of the room.

Edwynn slipped silently away from the others, hoping the demon hunter, with his attention focused on the others, would not notice him. Myrista stood next to the mirror, trembling in fear. Mallet stepped forward to place himself between the children and the mad elf. Brogan stepped slightly to Mallet's side to give himself a clear line of sight. He chanted and eldritch blackness began forming around his fingers.

Colberthas's attack was a work of art. He struck simultaneously with both warglaves. The left one disarmed Mallet and then slammed the knight against the wall with the flat of the blade. In the same motion the right hand weapon speared Brogan through the lung. The demon hunter smiled as he lifted the boy completely off the ground, the tip of his blade erupting from Brogan's back. He then swung the weapon and nailed him against the wall, the warlock's feet dangling inches above the floor. As Brogan struggled helplessly Mallet pushed against the weight of the blade, but Colberthas was too strong. With an almost casual ease he held the knight prisoner while he contemplated how to finish Brogan off.

"Stop! Please! Have mercy!" Myrista screamed. She held up the demoness's severed limb. "Take it! Just leave us alone!"

The night elf chuckled. "I will kill the rest of you momentarily human. This felsworn deserves to suffer. Or perhaps I will let him watch while I gut his friends? That would be a fitting last sight for someone who aligns themselves with the legion. I just wish…"

Anything else that he might have said was cut off. Edwynn, having circled behind the demon hunter, leapt from hiding. Catapulting himself up from one of the beaker-strewn tables, he stabbed with both knives, planting each blade at the base of Colberthas's neck. The weapons sank inches into his thick muscles, but provided no more annoyance than a gnat. Colberthas turned his empty, gaping eye sockets towards the rogue.

"Can't wait to die?" The night elf released his right-hand warglave, leaving Brogan pinned to the wall. With his free hand he swatted at Edwynn, who slipped just out of reach. Colberthas growled with annoyance. He then pulled the blade holding Mallet away from the knight. Without looking the giant swept out with one of his tree-sized legs and kicked Mallet. The blow sent the knight to the ground. The demon hunter then turned his full attention to the rogue.

"Come here you annoying insect!" Colberthas pursued Edwynn as the boy backed across the center of the room. With both knives jutting from the Night Elf's shoulders Edwynn had no weapons left. In desperation he began pulling the jeweled rings from his fingers. His nobleman's disguise no longer needed, he threw the useless trinkets at the demon hunter, but to no avail.

"Die!" Colberthas leapt forward, swinging his weapon ahead of him to cut the boy in half. Edwynn threw up his arms to cover his eyes. There was an explosion of light followed by absolute silence. The pain of vivisection never came. Edwynn stood there for a second, and then slowly lowered his arms.

Colberthas stood before him, frozen in time like a statue. He was lit brightly from the floor, where runes and circles used for holding powerful demons glowed brightly. Edwynn blinked at them in stunned astonishment until a noise drew his attention.

Someone was clapping.

"Bravo. Bravo, my boy. That worked better than I dared to hope." The man clapped. He appeared in the mirror next to Myrista, and as Edwynn watched, the man stepped out of it. The glass rippled like water on a pond as he brought both feet out to stand within the room. The rogue gazed in bewilderment at the man dressed in elegant black robes that matched his hair and goatee. His face looked so familiar. But his unspoken question was cut off.

"Father?!?"

Myrista was frozen in astonishment, staring at Nickolas Crownguard. The man she had not seen in over a year. Her expression was unreadable, a mass of confused emotions.

Nickolas's emotions were obvious. The instant he faced her, his expression softened. "My dear, I'm so sorry…" He opened his arms, extending them to his daughter. "I never wanted any of this to happen. I prayed you wouldn't get involved…"

"You've been here? In Stormwind? Among the warlocks? Why didn't you contact us? We were less than two days away!"

"I wanted to, but I couldn't. Any contact would have endangered you. The coven is filled with dangerous people. Men and women who would use any means to obtain leverage against me. Today's attack was itself caused by a jealous disciple who discovered that a fragment of Balba'yorn lay buried in a house in Northshire. How she discovered this I do not know, but if Surena had ever learned about you, I'm certain she would have killed you. I never wanted you involved. I should have taken the book with me when I left. Then none of this would have happened."

"Oh Daddy!" Myrista rushed forward into her father's arms, tears of joy steaming from her face. For his part Edwynn still couldn't believe the demon hunter had actually been stopped. Carefully stepping backwards, the boy crept to the edge of the room and then began to circle back around to where Brogan remained pinned to the wall. The young warlock was barely conscious. His lips were moving, but not sound escaped. His eyes however were open, locked onto Myrista's father. Edwynn gripped the handle of the warglave with both hands and pulled. It wouldn't budge. Again and again he tried without success.

"Um… a little help here guys."

Myrista broke away from her father at the thought of Brogan. She turned to rush towards them but Nickolas held her arm.

"Not so fast child. We are not out of danger yet. Give me the arm."

A loud crash of metal drew everyone's attention to Mallet. He had dropped his shield, and stood now staring at his brother. The old knight's face was cold and hard as mountain stone. His blue eyes seemed to shimmer with wetness, but his jaw was set in grim determination. He held his hammer across his chest with both hands as it silently returned to full size. The paladin drew a deep breath before speaking.

"I had hope. Even here, in this black place, I had hope. Hope that it wasn't you. Hope that someone else was leading the coven. That someone else had set this evil in motion. I would have given my very soul to be wrong."

"Father?" Myrista glanced back and forth between the two brothers. "Father, what's he talking about?"

"The arm daughter. Give it to me." Nickolas did not look at Myrista. His eyes never left his brother.

"What?"

"Give it to me. Now."

"Why? Father, what…"

"Stand away from him Myrista." Mallet lowered himself into a fighting stance. "The demon has corrupted him completely. He's not…"

The paladin never finished his sentence. Nickolas raised his hand and uttered an evil spell. The air was filled with an inhuman scream and a sickly green bolt of magic flew from the warlock's hand. Mallet dodged aside, but the magic twisted like a living thing to follow him. The green hellfire enveloped the paladin. He cried out in fear and agony. His mind assaulted by unspeakable horrors while his body was drained of its strength. As he fell to his knees, his skin withered and paled. Nickolas seemed to breathe in his brother's pain and gain unholy strength from it. The warlock straightened his posture, and flexed his fingers as they filled with the stolen life-energy.

"You should have heeded me back in Lordaeron. I warned you to stay away from MY family. The family you abandoned so many years ago. You were always off fighting your wars. You never married, never had children. You never knew what it was like to sacrifice for your family. But I do. I know what must be done to keep them safe." He turned to his daughter. "Give me the arm."

Myrista shook her head violently "No. You're not my father. No!"

Nickolas looked at her with solemn disappointment. "I have no need of disobedient children." He released his hand from the priestess and drew a tiny purple gem from his vest. It was an identical match to the one Brogan had created earlier. He held the soul shard in one hand as he pointed at her chest.

"Father, what are you…"

Nickolas Crownguard spoke a word. There was a crack like thunder, the gem shattered, and the girl fell to the ground, dead.

Nickolas looked down at the corpse of the daughter he had just murdered. "A pity. I had such high hopes for you." Without any sort of feeling or ceremony he reached down and retrieved Balba'yorn's arm. Mallet struggled to rise. His hand gripped his chest as his face contorted in pain, and then he collapsed face down. He did not rise again.

"I hope my deathcoil has not finally caused that ancient heart of yours to fail, brother. Colberthas is only half-demon. The ritual to enslave him to my will is complicated, and requires a very specific sacrifice. One of my blood-kin. Now that you are the only other Crownguard left I… Oh, but I'm forgetting something."

Nickolas looked up at Brogan and Edwynn. The rogue gave one last futile attempt to pull the warglave free from the wall before giving up. Nickolas half smiled at Brogan. Unable to speak, barely conscious, the young warlock glanced from Edwynn to Colberthas and then back to Edwynn.

The rogue backed away from his friend. Weaponless, exposed, and a full fifteen feet from Nickolas, he was out of options. He looked around for anything he could use for a weapon. There was nothing he could do unless he wanted to throw a beaker at his enemy.

Or at something else.

Without giving a thought to the consequences Edwynn ducked under the edge of the nearest table. Getting his legs under him, he pushed up with all his strength. The heavy wooden surface heaved unsteadily and then capsized towards the center of the room. Bottles of dragon's blood, vials of acid, and the Light knew what else slid off the tabletop and shattered on the floor. The liquids ran together and flowed across the center of the room, obscuring the runes.

The table fell, blocking Edwynn's view of the room. He did not need it to know what happened. The light dimmed as the mystic bonds holding Colberthas were washed away and the air was split with a terrifying roar. Then there was silence. After a half-dozen seconds Edwynn risked a peek over the edge.

Nickolas stood with his back to the mirror, Balba'yorn's arm clutched in his hand. Colberthas stood with a single warglave held before him, ready to strike. The two faced each other poised like cobra and mongoose. Slowly the night elf began to circle across towards Brogan, always keeping his blind eyes towards the elder warlock. Finally arriving at the boy, the demon hunter reached out and retrieved his second blade. He pulled it from the wall with disturbing ease, then shook it once to dislodge its unwanted human passenger. Brogan collapsed limply to the floor.

"A pity." Nickolas said at last. "You would have made an exceptional tool."

Colberthas rushed forward. The coven leader gestured at the night elf and spoke a single word before jumping backwards into the mirror. Colberthas's blade landed a split-second later and the enchanted glass shattered into a thousand pieces. The warglave buried itself into the wall beyond, striking no one. The demon hunter pulled it back with a curse.

Edwynn rushed from behind the table to Brogan's side. The young warlock coughed blood and tried feebly to hold the gaping wound in his chest together. Edwynn leaned across to try and put pressure on it. Brogan was loosing a lot of blood.

Before he could do anything else there was a clatter as Colberthas dropped one of his twin weapons, and a great hand grabbed Edwynn and lifted him into the air. Suddenly Edwynn was slammed into a wall and the bladed edge of a warglave was pressed against his face.

"The mirror." Colberthas growled. "Where does it lead?"

"I... I don't know."

The demon hunter adjusted his blade slightly and Edwynn felt the weapon cut into his cheek. Hot blood ran down his face and neck.

"Choose your next words carefully human. They must have value to me or you will die."

"I… theres…. There's something on your forehead."

The demon hunter paused. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He released Edwynn and stepped away. The boy landed with a grunt and pressed his hand against his bleeding face. Looking up at the demon hunter, the rogue wondered if his eyes had been playing tricks on him. But they weren't.

Floating in the air two inches in front of Colberthas's brow was a symbol. An arcane rune. It glowed faintly, but was growing stronger by the moment. With a flick of his wrist the demon hunter sliced it in half with his blade, the weapon passed through it like it was mist.

"No. NO! This is impossible!" The symbol was glowing brighter now. And the edges began to shimmer and flicker, as parchment being consumed by fire. Very slowly the rune started to disintegrate. Colberthas dropped his remaining warglave and began scanning around the room, searching for something.

"What… what's wrong? What is that?" Edwynn asked. Colberthas ignored him and instead was rummaging through the tabletops franticly.

"He is… doomed." Brogan coughed feebly. The rogue looked across at his friend. Brogan's magical black skin was slowly closing the wound in his chest. But the young warlock was staring at the demon hunter.

"The curse of doom. The most horrific spell in the legion's arsenal." Brogan coughed and spat up blood. Edwynn went to his side and tried to help him up into a sitting position. Brogan winced in pain but kept watching the demon hunter. Colberthas was in a pull panic now, searching tabletops, throwing aside books and wands. He would pause occasionally to run his hand over a scroll but then tear the paper in disgust.

"The symbol… in the air. That is his true name. All living creatures have them. Written invisibly above our third eye at the moment of our birth. The curse of doom, it erases the name, and thus erases your life. Worse, it shows itself to you, taunting you with the knowledge of your inevitable death."

"LIES!" Colberthas smashed the table he was currently searching. He leapt across the room and landed directly before Brogan. Terror was written across his face as he grabbed Brogan and lifted him up off the floor.

"Remove it!" Colberthas screamed. The rune was almost gone now. All of the edges had burned away and only a tiny glowing spec at its center remained.

"I can't" Brogan said. "Nothing can save you."

"I'll kill you! I'll kill all…" The last glowing mote of the rune vanished and suddenly Colberthas collapsed. His body fell lifeless to the ground and Brogan landed on top of him.

There was silence then. Edwynn alone was still standing in the summoning chamber. He glanced around, puzzled and shocked that aside from his face he was unharmed while surrounded by so much death. Quickly he pulled Brogan off of the demon hunter's corpse. The warlock was alive, but in massive pain. His wound would have killed a mortal man, but the cavernous hole in his chest was perhaps halfway close. "You'll be okay buddy. Just hang on."

Paranoia gripped him and Edwynn went to the night elf's corpse. Pulling his two knives from the demon hunter's back made him feel slightly more secure. He then turned and went to where Myrista's body lay. The youngest Crownguard was dead. Here eyes frozen open in panic, her face still wet from the tear of joy. Her right hand clutched the air instead of Balba'yorn's arm. Looking at her, Edwynn felt himself go numb inside, as though he could not rationalize that she was actually dead. He pushed her eyelids closed and moved away from her.

Mallet was face down near the center of the room. Edwynn stepped closer to him and saw his body give a small shudder. Grabbing the big man's shoulder, Edwynn pulled with as much strength as he had left. He managed to turn the old warrior over on his back. The knight was unconscious and his heartbeat was erratic. His breathing was shallow and his eyelids fluttered like someone dreaming… or having a nightmare.

A noise caught Edwynn's attention. From the hallway outside voices could be heard. The rogue's hear leapt at the idea that it might be Mythril, coming to save the day. But it wasn't. It was the sound of many men. Armor clanking, voices calling out with military precision. It was the Stormwind guards. The rogue shot a panicked glance at Brogan. There was no hiding his black skin now. The guards might recognize Mallet as one of their own, but the warlock would be put to the sword at once.

"Brogan. Hey Brogan where's that…" Edwynn stopped as the paladin suddenly grabbed his arm. For a man at death's door, his grip was like iron.

"M… Myrista." The old man's eyes were closed. He was shaking.

"She's gone. Edwynn began trying to pry Mallet's hand loose. His fingers squeezed so hard the rogue felt the blood start pooling in his hand.

"We've… we've got… to stop him…" the old man's voice was raspy, just louder than a whisper.

"He's gone. He escaped. With the arm and the book. I'm sorry. We failed." Impossibly the hand's grip tightened. It was actually painful.

"F…find him. You have to find him. Promise me…"

Edwynn didn't know what to say. The old man was giving up. The only family Mallius had ever known was dead, or had betrayed him. There was nothing left for him to live for except to pass his duty on. Then he could die in peace.

"Promise me… Promise me you'll find him." The dying man begged.

"I… No! No I can't do it!" Edwynn finally gripped the paladin's fingers and pried them open. Twisting and squirming, he managed to free himself of the paladin's death grip.

"Promise…" Mallet grasped feebly at the air.

"You'll have to do it yourself you old coot! You'll have to live!" Edwynn scrambled to Brogan and started to lift him. The voices of the guards were closer now.

"Leave me." Brogan coughed.

"No way! The guards will kill you!"

"Ed, you have to get away. The dock. Two halls down on the right. Swim for it"

"I can't leave you! Everyone else is dead or dying. I have to save someone."

"No choice. Just…" The warlock looked at Edwynn and then down at his belt. Brogan reached forward and grabbed Edwynn's dagger. He drew it from its scabbard.

"You can't fight them. By the shadow you can't even walk."

"One spell… left." Brogan spoke a demonic word, and then reversed the knife to a stabbing position.

"What are you…"

"Find my body." He said. "Don't let them burn me." And with that Brogan stabbed the knife into his wounded chest.

"BROGAN!" Edwynn screamed.

"Did you hear that? This way men."

Marcus Jonathan entered the summoning chamber with a scowl of disappointment. More bodies, and still no answers. Not one prisoner. Not one living soul in the entire coven. His men had found the escape tunnels, and he knew now that the warlocks had been expecting the raid. Dark wizards were like rats, they would always survive in some form or another. Rumors abounded that Lady Prestor knew about the coven and was secretly supporting it. The general ignored these rantings. He needed facts, not hearsay. His city had been attacked. Someone needed to answer for the deaths.

"Sir! This one's alive!"

Marcus crossed to the white-haired corpse. Without his breastplate it took the general a moment to recognize the paladin. His face had aged visibly, looking ten years older than he had an hour ago. Older, and thirty pounds lighter. It was a though something had literally sucked the life out of him. As he watched, Mallius groaned and tried to stir, but he didn't even have the strength to lift his own arms.

"Not dead yet Crownguard? Too bad for you. Captain, check the rest of the bodies."

"This one's dead." One guard nudged a woman's corpse with his boot.

"This one's not breathing. Looks like he fell on his own knife." A second guard stated.

Something moved in Marcus's peripheral vision. A shadow's shadow, back near the door. The general looked hard in that direction, but whatever had moved was gone now.

'_I doubt it was my imagination though…_' he thought to himself.

"Grab the traitor. We'll send someone for the bodies. Whatever happened here, it's over now."


	29. Epolouge

Epilogue – Two days later

There was a rattle of a key in a lock and suddenly light spilled into the chamber. The white haired figure stirred as the wooden door swung open. Someone entered and came to the edge of the bars. A man, wearing expensive boots. He looked into the cell and frowned.

"Still not eating?" The man asked the prisoner. He looked at the stale bread and bowl of thin gruel.

The prisoner said nothing.

"Still not talking either? Fine by me. My name is Mathias Shaw. We've never been introduced formally but I believe we had some mutual friends. The Light knows we have mutual enemies.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that these are dangerous times. The king is missing. Lady Prestor rules Stormwind in his stead. Her idea of justice is somewhat… harsh. She held your trial this morning, without you present of course. I don't think it will surprise you that you were found guilty. Treason, desertion, aiding the enemies of Stormwind. All the good stuff."

The prisoner said nothing.

"You've made a lot of friends over the years. Grayson Shadowbreaker and Bishop Farthing both spoke to your heroism and character. But I think it was the peasant woman and her little girl that saved your life. Talked about you single-handedly taking on a dozen Defias bandits in her home. They made you out to be a real hero, they did."

"Still, Prestor was furious. She wanted you beheaded. But Fordring talked her down to life without parole in the stockades. Supposedly they're going to strip you of the Light as well. Grayson is going to do it, but he's a busy man. Might have to postpone it until next week. Or the week after. Or even later. Who knows…?

"All of your property had been seized. Prestor's people managed to get to your hammer before I could. It's gone, no idea where. Your lands have been seized, and of course your title stripped. I did manage to make arrangements for your niece though. She's been buried in Northshire, next to her mother. As for the boy, Brogan, he was buried in an unmarked grave outside the gates, along with the other bandit and warlock corpses. We only found one night elf corpse, that of the demon hunter. No telling what happened to the druid. They say druids turn into wisps when they die. Just because there's no body doesn't mean she's not dead.

"Anyway, I guess that's about it. You'll be transferred to the stockades tomorrow. It can be a rough place, especially for lawmen. Or ex-lawmen in your case. My advice would be to eat up. You'll need your strength."

Shaw stood there for a moment. The prisoner said nothing. Shaw nodded once and turned to leave.

The prisoner mumbled.

"Sorry." Shaw stopped and turned to him. "I didn't catch that."

"My horse." The prisoner repeated. "Star. My horse. She'll never take another rider while I'm alive. They're not going to kill her are they?"

"Oh no. She's good stock, that one. They auctioned off as a breeder this morning. The stablemaster from Northshire seemed particularly interested. Jorik Kerridan. His boy left with her not an hour ago. Bright lad. Short, with long black hair and a scar on his left cheek. Funny thing though. Northshire's not two days ride but he looked like he was packed for a long journey. Had a shovel with him too. No idea what that was about. Well, I have things to attend to. Good luck, paladin."

With that the spymaster stepped out and the door closed. In darkness Mallet sat alone, pondering what Shaw had said. After a minute, the old man reached down and picked up the bowl and stale bread. He ate it all.

It was two hours after midnight when Edwynn finally heard the noise; a faint scratching, hardly audible over the wind in the trees or the hooting of owls. As if the graveyard outside Stormwind's gates wasn't scary enough at night. Over three dozen were dead; Defias bandits, warlocks of the twilight hammer, and Stormwind's own coven. They had been lined up and buried side by side in a long row, without coffins or markers of any form. Luckily the graves were shallow. Star watched nervously, tied to a nearby tree, as Edwynn had dug up the first three bodies. None of them were the one he sought, but that didn't matter anymore. Now he had the scratching noise to go by. It only took twenty minutes to remove most of the loose surface soil. A couple more strokes and his shovel struck organic flesh. A yelp of pain secured his hopes.

"Sorry about that." The rogue grimaced.

Five minutes later Brogan's face, neck, and one arm were uncovered. The warlock gasped and breathed deeply of the cold spring air.

"What the heck took you so long?" The warlock panted.

"Hey! You weren't easy to find. There were almost forty bodies interned yesterday. And the penalty for grave robbing is they cut off your hand. Here." Edwynn passed a wineskin down to his friend, who drank greedily.

"So, how did you survive anyway?" Edwynn asked as he began shoveling the remaining dirt from Brogan's chest and legs.

"The same spell I used to save that guard who fell into the canal. It's called 'unending breath'. I had enough air to recast it every hour or so. Almost fell asleep a couple of times though. That was pretty scary."

"And your wound?"

"They didn't cut off my head, or burn me, so it eventually regenerated. Hurt like hell though. And I'm hungry as all sin. How long as it been?"

"Two days and three nights. I've got some salted port and carrots on the horse. If we start walking tonight we can be in Lakeshire in two days."

"What's in Lakeshire?"

"Nothing." The rogue sighed. "I figured we could hide there until we figure out our next move. We've got to find Nickolas and the book, but I don't have a clue where to start looking."

"Perhaps I can help?"

The voice was a woman's and less than an inch from Edwynn's ear. He jumped, tripped on his shovel, and fell face forward into Brogan's shallow grave. He scrambled there for a moment, and then turned over to look above him.

At first there was nothing but shadow. Then two pinpoints of light appeared where eyes should be. Star stamped and pulled at the tree that bound her.

"Mythril?" Edwynn asked the blackness.

"I'm afraid not." A deeper shadow moved forward. Too short to be a night elf. But the voice was deep and strong. And the eyes glowed.

Edwynn gasped. "Garona?"

The half-orc smiled. "Lord Pernolde sends his regards. He has a message for you. The syndicate was recently asked to acquire a great many curious artifacts. Books, rare stones, and a series of personal effects that managed to survive a fire at Crownguard manor in Northshire. The objects were loaded onto a boat that sailed last night for Ashenvale."

"Ashenvale?" Edwynn repeated the name.

"Yes. In Kalimdor, far to the west. A long journey, but they say there are artifacts that would allow someone to traverse the distance instantaneously. Magical mirrors or portals. The region is littered with the ruins of ancient elven cities destroyed by powerful spells. The barriers between the worlds are supposedly weak there. It is the sort of place someone would go if they wanted to perform experiments far from prying eyes. I don't suppose you know anyone who fits the bill?"

"Ashenvale…" Edwynn repeated again. He blinked helplessly up at the assassin. "How would I…"

"The goblins have a shipping route from Booty Bay, south of here, to Ratchet, on the east coast of Kalimdor. From there you must cross the barrens. The route is long, and dangerous. You will undoubtedly encounter orcs, trolls, pirates, demons, and the gods know what else. The journey will be good for you. It will toughen you up. By the time you reach the end, you might actually be strong enough to succeed at the task set before you."

"And then what? If I defeat Nickolas and destroy the demon? What then?"

The half-orc turned away and took a step, vanishing instantly into the darkness. "Then you'll return to Stormwind a hero… and I will murder you."

Edwynn swallowed loudly. "Great. I just can't wait to get started then."

-END-


End file.
